Occupation
by AbstractError
Summary: This is the only thing about my absence that I regret: the fact that I could not witness how Aizen finally taught you all that adaptation is the key to survival. You, in particular, appear to be working exceptionally well under the new order.
1. Uninvited Guests

_December 15th_

_Day 1._

Countless attendants busied themselves amid the stalls of Central 46's assembly hall, their varied and brightly colored robes proudly displaying markings of heritage and clan. The display of such wealth and personal pride in these once sombre halls of rule would have been unthinkable just a year before, yet none thought of that, now.

Today was an extraordinary day in a remarkable year.

It was barely eight months ago that the halls had run red with the blood of Soul Society's wisest, when the traitor Sousuke Aizen had made his bid at marring history with his unprecedented crime. Few had thought that the blow he'd landed would so easily be mended then, and that so many would prove eager to take on the role of anonymous avatars of justice.

Yet, as Sereitei still reeled in shock, the noble clans had descended from their remote residences, and offered their sincere assistance in rebuilding Central 46's numbers and authority. Preserving the continuity of government was the crux, in the aftermath of the massacre, thus the offer had been accepted, and none had truly pondered how able or qualified the clan elders were, in ruling a world from which they had been serenely absent for centuries. None had even questioned why, after millennia of observed separation, the clans had rediscovered their interest in the lower courts of heaven; within months, as the Gotei braced for its Winter War, a new set of unquestionably wise legislators had been selected, and Sereitei had pushed on, with the certainty of its invulnerability and full faith in the endless patience of time.

Today, the chambers sparkled with color as the newly elected delegates, the head families of the clans and their many servants shuffled about, and took their final seats. But six hours before, a hell butterfly had arrived, bringing news of the fact that after weeks of ceaseless harassment, the traitor had taken refuge in the human world, abandoning his Hueco Mundo citadel and falling into Sereitei's trap.

Victory was at hand, and it demanded celebration.

Setting up a hero's welcome in such a brief respite had been no easy task – the decorations that the Katsumi-Oji family had ordered did not make a pleasantly balanced backdrop to the colourful feast that the Kyoraku had prepared, while the minstrels that the Shihouin had commissioned had yet to find a single tune that the Kuchiki versifiers could put words to at such short notice. Still, as the hours went by, the minor disagreements could not erase sly smiles of shared, perfect irony, for as the clans stood gathered, ready to celebrate the outcome of a war fought with swords, all knew that the true celebration they would share was of the outcome of another war, one of time, patience, and enduring tradition over foolish, untested ideals.

Of course, a few inglorious whispers still dared suggest that the clans' involvement in the day to day ruling of Sereitei was a throw back to the days which had preceded the last kingdom wars, and that Central's impartiality would become no more than a legend, as the clans regained political power to yield against each other.

Such whispers were naught but ungrateful claptrap, the clans agreed. The Shinigami of the Gotei had had erred: they had sought to separate ancient wealth and political clout from military strength and judicial power; they'd allowed untested Rukongai-born who possessed spiritual power to enter Sereitei, with no question of their loyalties. It had only been a matter of time until their foolish behaviour turned against them - in the end, with the Gotei's attention called elsewhere, the embarrassment over the ryoka invasion and Yamamoto's inability of raising a clear successor, the Shinigami should have thought themselves fortunate, and perhaps, rather than spreading whispers, they should have taken a quiet moment to contemplate upon the cyclical irony of the fact that the very man who'd broken clan rule over the court of pure souls had been forced to reinstate it.

The time for such realisations was not yet on hand, however, and none of the clans wished to rush it. Their personal glory already had been secured, and exercising it fully could wait. For now, it was glory for all.

All motion ceased, as a senkei gate unexpectedly appeared in the center of the chamber. The musicians and speakers cuttingly eyed each other, while the dignitaries hurriedly touched up their ceremonial outfits and muttered about military men not understanding common courtesies like giving a more specific time of arrival.

But as the doorway fully materialized, there was a confusing difference that only a privileged few could have caught. Instead of the simple silk and polished cherry wood door which normally appeared when one travelled to the human realm, the gateway was an unexpectedly magnificent double doorway made of embossed rosewood with crimson panels embroidered in gold. Before the few who'd recognized the passageway to the Spirit King's world could even turn their heads to exchange glances, time's endless patience ran out.

A march swelled up to the rise of the imperial music director's hands like the first rays of the sun ascending mountain slopes, stately and grand, climbing swiftly to majesty…

…then, awkwardly falling flat as Ichimaru Gin casually strolled out of the doorway, his blood drenched, drawn sword at his side. Most of the delegates did not know the man by sight, and recognition dawned upon them slowly, not eased by the fact that for some unfathomable reason, the man was in the process of awkwardly pulling on a freshly pressed uniform of a vice-captain for the 1st Division.

Those who did recognize him stood to flee.

In the shocked stillness that followed, Ichimaru Gin continued to grin from ear to ear, and slowly sheathed his sword, causing a few droplets of blood to fall to the marble floor. None moved, and, after a further moment of consideration, the silver haired man probably realised that the burden of breaking the silence lied squarely with him.

'Boy!' Gin happily chirped with a short clap of his hands, 'have I got a surprise fo' you!'

* * *

Good evening all, and welcome to the brave new world :)


	2. Old Friends

_December 27_

_Day 15_

* * *

Yoruichi Shihouin knew that she was not alone.

The pin-points lights of the city which stretched below the high perch of the skyscraper where she stood were dwindling in the approaching dawn. The night illumination grid would turn off at precisely six thirty in the morning, just like the day before, and the day before that. Then, after a few minutes of peace, the roads would start filling with neat, orderly rows of cars, people, children – with quaint, ordinary human lives resuming the inconsequential and blissfully ignorant flow of their existence.

Unlike the roads of Karakura Town, whose equally inconsequential and blissfully ignorant inhabitants had been reduced to ashes and brimstone in a mere heartbeat, but two weeks before.

She looked to the sky, wondering what explanation the humans had found for that – an entire city, and its hundreds of thousands of people simply erased, by no weapon they could possibly identify, and unconsciously clenched her fists to her sides.

'How did you find me?' she asked, not bothering to look over her shoulder.

'Hirako Shinji,' the kneeling figure responded, his voice muffled and rendered unrecognizable by the dark cloth mask which obscured his features; in passing, she noted that the man had been donning an Omnitskido uniform, but displaying the markings of a Shihouin soldier. 'His reiatsu has repeatedly been spotted in the Osaka prefecture over the past week.'

'I see,' Yoruichi responded, gazing into the distance. 'I do not suppose anything _else_ has been spotted in the Osaka prefecture,' she observed, managing to maintain her tone even and unconcerned, although she could still clearly sense Hollow reiatsu in the distance.

The man did not even hesitate before he answered. 'These matters are of no concern to New Central.'

_New Central,_ she thought; her reiatsu flared along with her temper, and though she stifled both quickly enough, Yoruichi immediately guessed that the brief lapse had been enough to alert Kisuke, who should have been resting below. It was unimportant, she thought, a second later. If he was awake, he would watch, but wouldn't move until he thought she might be in danger.

Yoruichi closed her eyes for a moment, taking in the smells of the still sleeping human city, and wondering if Shinji might have felt the same way as Kisuke. Perhaps he would not care, the woman told herself. Perhaps he was too busy repelling the Hollow to notice.

'Daimyo-sama,' the masked man said, bowing his forehead – despite herself, Yoruichi tensed, and felt a surge of cold disdain unlike few she'd felt in her life.

She had not been called by that title in over a century and a half, not since she'd _betrayed_ Sereitei and made her way into the human world. During that time, her esteemed clan elders had done their best to treat her existence and her actions as an unforgiveable spot on their previously unblemished history; the only reason why they had not replaced her was probably the fact that too many of them had wanted the title for themselves, but none had outright had the authority to claim it. Now, however…

Yamamoto was gone, and though none of those left behind in the human world had been able to see what had happened to Soul Society after Karakura, Yoruichi did not need much of an imagination to know what Aizen would do to the old Commander's _precious _order, nor did she need one to know that her clan would, as always, attempt to maintain themselves on top of the spinning wheel.

It figured, she thought, stretching her lips into a thin, cutting line.

The massacre of Karakura had left her numbed, and emptied of all drive to fight further – in truth, Yoruichi told herself, there was no further rational reason to fight. History, as it coursed through her clan's veins, and as few of the others saw it, had always been forged like this. For however much Kurosaki, Ishida and Inoue might have thought differently and, for however Kisuke might have tried try to fool himself into agreeing with them, the upset in Soul Society's order that Aizen had caused was no different than what Yamamoto himself had caused not so long ago. In a past age, none had believed that the Gotei and Chamber 46 would be able to replace the noble clans' as rulers of Sereitei in the wake of the last kingdom wars, just as none had believed that the Spirit King could be done away with, now - yet, both things had come to pass, and the world had not come undone at the seams. The only thing that made this war different from the previous ones was that it had been fought in Hueco Mundo and the human world instead of Soul Society itself.

Aizen and Yamamoto… the only true difference there was Aizen had been more creative and hadn't bothered with pretending he had better morals.

The Shihouin clan admired that in a man, Yoruichi thought. She distantly remembered that she did, too.

'What do you want?' Yoruichi curtly asked; the man did not lift his forehead, but stretched out his arm, offering her a tightly wrapped parchment, with an adorned, golden seal. She hesitated before taking it, then paused after breaking the seal, holding the paper by its very edges, as if she'd feared the rows of precisely etched letters would seep off the page, and stain her fingers.

Reading them nearly stained her soul.

The letter, signed in the names of twenty of her clan's elders, assured her that by Aizen-_sama_'s grace, the Shihouin house stood unscathed, in continued health, good fortune, and good repute; New Central had assumed the heavy burden of its responsibilities with such wisdom and grace as none of the rulers before it had, causing little upset in the natural order of Sereitei, and wisely placing its trust in those who had _always_ shared Aizen-_sama'_s healthy skepticism of the separation between the noble clans and the powers of the Gotei.

Further, New Central would not forego the manpower and wealth that the clans could bring to bear in the swift and peaceful establishment of an optimistic new order, and it was with great joy that the Shihouin had accepted a place of great honour and privilege within it…

Youruichi gritted her teeth and looked away.

Of course, she thought. What else? Not even Aizen could dream of ruling Sereitei alone. Winning a battle was not the same as securing an enduring position on top of society: one couldn't hope to take on an entire world alone, unless one wanted to thoroughly crush it. And Aizen had never wanted that, Yoruichi considered, looking at the parchment, though its fine letters trembled before her eyes. Aizen wanted subjects, not corpses – a triumph was hardly a triumph if there weren't any spectators to admire it.

It was doubly wise because attaining the submission of Sereitei would never be achievable if he only employed his Hollow contingents; true, in terms of numbers and perhaps even strength, the Arrancar were not a negligible tool, but _policing_ was different from warfare, and it was doubtful that passage though the Hogyoku had instilled the savage Hollow with sufficient human reason to recognize the difference. Where then could Aizen find a troop that was sufficient in numbers, and who could be ruthless and heavy handed without being outright bloodthirsty? More importantly, who could blend in and present the Shinigami with an ambivalent target?

How convenient then that each of the noble clans had fighters in their hundreds, men and women who possessed no loyalty to the Gotei, and no sympathy for the Shinigami of the lower courts…

_What could he have offered in exchange?_ Yoruichi wondered, grinning inwardly as she swiftly came upon the answer. _Continued health, good fortune and good repute. Of course._

'Have the Kuchiki accepted _this?_' she asked, holding the letter out.

'The Katsoumi-Oji have, from the first hour,' the messenger responded. 'The Kyoraku are still in negotiations…'

'That is not what I asked,' Yoruichi said. 'Have the Kuchiki…'

'They too are still negotiating,' the man dryly answered; Yoruichi lowered her glance, and unwillingly nodded. There was no way of ascertaining that the man was telling the truth; on the one hand, Kuchiki Byakuya had always kept himself on a stiff moral high horse, and was not a man to easily surrender. On the other, his persona had always been split between his duty as head of clan and his duties towards the Gotei, and he'd often let his sense of family honour take precedence over the Gotei's business and interests.

It did not matter, Yoruichi thought. If Aizen had yet again muddied the waters between Sereitei and the noble clans, the specter of the Kuchiki heightening their influence should have been concerning to any Shihouin, and too good a blackmail weapon for either Aizen or her clan elders to pass on. Under the circumstances, the truth became irrelevant, much like everything else.

For now, the letter continued, the armed guard of the Shihouin had been given the quarters of the 1st Division, while their _special_ contingent had been openly welcomed back to the ranks of the Omnitskido. A new age of opportunity awaited all those who were ready to welcome it; it was the time for the Shihouin heiress to further strengthen her family's position, and act upon the chance of making herself useful to Aizen-_sama_ before the Kuchiki heir did.

She smiled, and shook her head.

New Central, the letter casually continued, was in the process of revising Central 46's previous judicial edicts; it was not unlikely that in sign of recognition to the Shihouin's wisdom, Yoruichi's name would officially be cleared, and she would be allowed to return with the full honour her rank and heritage befitted. Unofficially, New Central had gone as far as to indicate that depending on Yoruichi's level of commitment further _pardons_ could be issued as well, for it was the time for those who had been unfairly treated by Yamamoto to stand together and slowly resolve past differences.

The chance, the clan elders wrote in a harsh change of tone, was too great to miss, even by one who'd scarcely demonstrated wisdom in her past dealings. The window of opportunity was narrow. If they acted before the Kuchiki did, the Shihouin would completely upstage them, and grasp the possibility of negotiating their military strength past previous, artificially imposed quotas. Being allowed direct intervention rights into Sereitei was already a huge step forward, and more than the clan had gained in the past two thousand years of Yamamoto's rule.

In case of a refusal, the family, whose prospects had been severely handicapped by Yoruichi's past indiscretions, and whose patience, kindness and loyalty had been stretched to its farthest limits, would have to consider her continued position as clan leader under the sternest of terms.

As, indeed, would New Central.

The parchment had ended at that, and it made perfect sense. Threats didn't require such things as politeness anyway.

'The offer will stand for a week,' the man said, keeping his forehead bowed. 'Daimyo-sama, I have been urged to impress upon you…'

'Since when do messengers deliver orders?' Yoruichi snarled, spinning about herself. The man shirked under the implied threat of her reiatsu, but firmly held his position.

'The offer will stand for one week,' the messenger repeated.

Unseen Hollow wailed in the distance, then vanished; Yoruichi sensed the closing of the Garganta as if her ears had popped at a change in pressure after a swift descent. Not a moment too soon, she thought, once more turning to face the milky white horizon. The electrical lights of the city below fizzled and turned off, in the arrogant assumption that the time of ghosts was over, and real life was getting ready to begin.

That, Yoruichi knew, was just another illusion; since Aizen's ascension, Hollow had been pouring in by the hundreds, sometimes in numbers so great that not even Ishida's bow could keep them at bay, and certainly not for too long. The attacks were not strong, perhaps because Hueco Mundo had been emptied of its most powerful entities, and the Hollow who crossed were simply seeking to flee the wars of the rising dominant creatures. Nonetheless, the barriers had become so porous that Hollow invasions manifested almost every other night, without reprieve.

The small troop which had confronted Aizen had been forced to scatter, their wounds still unhealed and their hearts led by nothing but grief, and bitter, immediate sense of purpose. Half of the Vaizard and Kurosaki had remained north, while Yoruichi and Kisuke, along with Ishida and the rest of the Vaizard had thought it wise to go further south, where none knew them and where Kisuke could attempt to re-create his passages into Sereitei without arousing immediate suspicion.

Yoruichi wondered whether he was doing that because he thought the pursuit had merit or because he could not bring himself to let the _children_ down, just yet. She suspected him of the latter, but could not truly blame him, the woman thought. Kurosaki, Ishida and Inoue were human, and the massacre of Karakura had brought about the very real loss of family and friends; unlike Yoruichi, Urahara and the Vaizard, they'd lost the present and all their hopes for the future.

She sighed.

All the young humans had left now was their hope for revenge, and though he'd never said as much, Kisuke was probably pressing with his work just because he could not bear telling them that Aizen was, by now, well and truly out of their reach. That it was over.

From any perspective, staying behind when her first and best instinct was to go as far away from the group and as deep into hiding as she possibly could had been foolish. Yoruichi had never been one for sentimentalism; she'd been born and bred to ignore it, and always followed her practical sense – she'd certainly seen enough betrayal and defeat to be hardened against both. They – no, she reminded herself, the Gotei, Yamamoto's Gotei had lost the war, a war that, from their perspective, had never included her, or Kisuke, or the Vaizard, or the foolish human children who'd aligned themselves to a side without understanding what they were getting into. It had not…it should not have been _her_ war, to either fight or lose.

'Who is heading the Omnitskido?' she asked, lifting her chin and allowing the warm morning light to caress her features.

'The Cuarta Espada, Ulquiorra Schiffer,' the messenger replied.

'Soi Fon?' Yoruichi inquired, then shook her head, involuntarily running her hand over her face. 'No, don't,' she hastily added, dismissing her own question. 'Don't…never mind.'

'Aizen-sama has privately indicated that he may be amenable to returning the Omnitskido to Shihouin control, in time,' the man said, not guessing the true intent behind her question.

'The human world…' she began, looking out on the living city which stretched all around them, but seeing nothing but the ashen ruins of Karakura.

Indeed, the human world…when had she grown so attached to it? Yoruichi wondered.

'The human world is not a prerogative of the Shihouin clan,' the messenger dryly interrupted.

'But _I_ am a Shinigami,' the woman breathed, turning to face him.

'With all due respect, Daimyo-sama,' he responded, for the first time lifting his chin to meet her fiery glance, 'that is not true. You have not been a Shinigami for a century and a half.' The incomprehension in his eyes was so sincere that it was impossible to grudge.

Yoruichi Shihouin had never been one for sentimentalism, so she found it hard to accept that her heart was breaking. She remained silent for a few moments longer, not wondering why she was unable to entertain any thoughts but the fact that it hadn't been her war to fight, that it had not been her war to lose; the world Aizen had conquered had brutally expelled her, she'd owed the Gotei nothing, and yet…

'You may tell those who sent you…' she began, feeling uncertain of her voice. 'You may tell them that I understand their choices.'

'Daimyo-sama?' the messenger asked, softly shaking his head.

'That is all,' Yoruichi said, nodding to herself.

The man stood and straightened, then stiffly bowed to her turned back; just like the elders, he did not feel the need say a farewell, nor did he address her by her title before he vanished. She suspected it was because the man already knew she no longer possessed it.

Her long hair fluttering about her features, Yoruichi remained on the roof, distractedly listening to the sound of traffic which rose from below; she noticed that it had started to snow – a wide, light flake rested upon her cheek, lingering there for a second before the warmth of her skin turned it into a droplet of clear water. It ran along her cheekbone, and clung to her chin for a second, before dropping onto her sleeve.

She knew she was still not alone.

Snowflakes danced wildly in the hot steam which rose from the small bowl of noodles that Urahara Kisuke offered her, before he sat by her side, on the edge of the roof.

'Yoruichi-san,' he greeted, in his lightly unconcerned, nasal tone.

'Kisuke,' she nodded.

He passed her the chopsticks.

'I will need to leave you for a while,' Yoruichi said, softly; the man nodded in his turn, his gaze obscured by the rim of his hat. 'My clan may prove a hazard to us all, and I do not wish to expose any of you to business that is only my own. I shall be back in due time.'

'Kurosaki will be most disappointed,' he casually answered.

'I know,' Yoruichi shrugged. She put the chopsticks aside, and took a sip of the soup. The noise of engines and horns, and the indistinguishable voices of humans floated upwards in the wind, along with the snowflakes. 'Aizen will not be coming for any of us, Kisuke.' She said. 'We no longer matter. Perhaps we never truly did.'

It was Urahara's turn to answer 'I know.'


	3. Sic Transit

_January 1__st_

_Occupation week 3_

_

* * *

_

'_Sic transit…_' Stark sighed, to no one in particular.

'What ya say?' Lilinette perked; the man looked down at her, and attempted to smile.

The Primera Espada, in its separated aspects, sat on the roof of the 13th Division's captain quarters, under a clear sky, and facing the east as it slowly brightened with the pre-dawn light. The still bare branches of trees reached towards the sky, rising among an orderly stretch of tiled roofs, and patches of gardens. There was no sand in sight, and the night smelled of snow.

'Sic transit gloria mundi,' Stark repeated, a little bit louder. 'Thus passes the glory of the world,' he explained, a second and a painful nudge later. 'Ow, Lilinette.' He weakly and belatedly protested.

'Well, quit talking in tongues,' she muttered, leaning her shoulders on his chest. This time, he smiled in earnest, and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. ''sides,' she added, after nestling close, 'I dunno why you always gotta be so _self depreciated_…'

Stark laughed, and kissed her forehead. 'Self-_deprecating_,' he corrected.

'Ya know what I mean,' Lilinette shrugged. 'Is not like they lost, Stark, it's that we won.'

His answer tarried overly long, and his silence made her fidget; she did not prod him, however, and though he was assured her first nudge had bruised his ribs, Stark wished she would have. Lilinette settled on gently caressing his arm, her tiny fingers unconsciously grazing over the slim, black cross that lay on his wrist, as if seeking to remind him that his sense of victory should have been twofold, and that in true, cruel irony a Hollow who'd once been a Quincy now stood over the defeated court of pure souls.

The evergreen hedges which lined their beautiful new garden rustled in the wind.

'We won,' she confidently affirmed. He conceded with a half nod, and distantly wondered why, although he felt terribly tired, he did not feel sleepy.

'Three hundred years…' he whispered, doing no more than thinking out loud. Lilinette nodded, knowing what he'd intended to say. They had been together for three hundred years, in Hueco Mundo, and in the time before that, in a human life that still evaded her memories, but was painfully present in his.

Back when he'd a mother and a father, a country and a clan.

Back when he'd had dreams and ideals: a revolution against an earthly tyrant and an insurrection against a heavenly one.

Back when he'd had her.

During those centuries after, life, or rather existence, had seen them both through many transformations – Stark remembered those, too, from his evolution to Adjucha and the moment he'd recovered his sense of self, to the time when their joint reiatsu had pushed them over the threshold to Vasto Lorde, and then, through the final one, which had seen Aizen and his miraculous gem returning them to as human a form as was still possible

One might have thought that all that would be tiresome enough to warrant a fifty year long nap, yet…

Yet, here they stood.

Not on the threshold to a new evolution, but beyond it; this latest…_last_ of all changes, Stark forced himself to think, had come about almost without warning. He had not thought that Aizen would win. Not really.

He'd joined God's cause for lack of choice, at first; if one learned anything in Hueco Mundo, it was that standing in the way of a hurricane was distinctly unwise. Stark himself had not even initially trusted the man's promises of removing their masks and restoring their complete human bodies. Lilinette had thought differently, but then…

He held her tighter.

…but then, she'd had a better reason to trust, or rather, be hopeful. Her Adjucha form had been incorporeal light, and the transition to Vasto Lorde had neither returned her body, nor her memory. Though they'd become one, they'd continued to manifest different powers and different appearances, and she had not changed.

Stark's mouth twisted into a jagged, bitter line.

He wondered if she'd offered her reiatsu to him as he lay dying after some long forgotten battle and he had done something wrong in the process of assimilation – the remnants of his Quincy reiatsu absorption powers, combined with his Hollow hunger functioned even without his conscious intervention. _This_ alone, he could not truly remember, but he imagined that his body had greedily consumed hers, as if she had been any other source of energy, any other prey.

Or maybe, it was because even as one, they had not had sufficient energy for both of their forms, or maybe, just maybe, the man thought, unconsciously caressing her hair, because the fact that her soul remembered its half, her mind still did not, and without memory, Lilinette herself could not reconstitute her human shape.

Regardless of how it happened, she'd lost a key part of her being and she desperately wanted it back. He'd wanted it back too, enough to take the first and only leap of faith he'd taken in three centuries of existence as Hollow. And for a too brief time, it looked as if it might have truly worked. They had not even noticed that the gem had failed them, at first. They'd both simply rejoiced at her finally physical presence, and only later realized they'd escaped from one trap only to fall into another, maybe even more painful one. Stark looked down to her, the weight of the pain and disappointment so great that he could not even sigh.

Lilinette's human body was that of an eleven year old, though she had died at fifteen, or sixteen. This too he could not remember exactly, but it did not much matter. He'd probably never truly known, and she hadn't really known either - in the world in which they'd lived, people of Lilinette's class were lucky if they knew their approximate age, as it had been long before civilization, records, or the notion that the poor were different from cattle.

The only thing that did matter was the brutal realization that nothing, not even the intervention of a man who deemed himself a God could return the final five years of her life to her memory. Those final few years, when she'd stopped being a child Stark deeply cared for, and become the woman he loved and wished to marry, the other half of his soul – those years were gone, well and truly erased…The Shinigami's gem had not been able to undo the harm the other Shinigami had done, in his passage, and Lilinette herself, as she had once been, was lost, stolen..

He looked away, towards the gentle gold of the approaching sunrise.

He hadn't thought Aizen could win.

No - what Stark had hoped for, when he'd crossed into the human world, was that revenge against the arrogant Gotei would cauterize some of the old wounds and give him respite from the hurricane which had been raging in his chest for the best part of three centuries of existence as Hollow, and, the man thought, lowering his glance to the cross on his wrist, even before that. He'd hoped to see Yamamoto die – he'd hoped to see _Shinigami_ die, regardless of the colour of their uniform, just punishment for the judgment they had blindly passed upon all of the things Stark's dominant soul remembered having cared for…

'Ya OK?' Lilinette asked, crooking her neck to look upwards. 'You're shivering.'

'Bit cold,' he said, not really lying. But for her warmth, his chest might have felt as if it had been cast in ice. She questioningly stared at him for a moment longer – then, her eye narrowed, and her pretty features sharpened into a frown.

'Ya thinking of crap,' she flatly declared.

'It's been known to happen,' Stark joked; Lilinette arched an eyebrow, looking so comically sarcastic that he could not withhold a chuckle.

'Well, don't think of crap then,' she commanded; the phrase did not quite work, and her expression softened. 'Oh, come on,' she muttered. 'Don't get like that. Ya got the old geezer, right?'

Yes, Stark thought, he'd gotten the old geezer. Shikeguni Yamamoto Genryusai, 21st Captain Commander of the Gotei, most proficient fighter known to Soul Society, artisan of the final Quincy genocide and a man who'd rained heavenly injustice and arbitrary cruelty on all but his own kind, was dead. True, it had been Aizen to finish him off, but Stark had never been one to care for such menial detail. He'd simply watched the wretched creature's decrepit body fall from the skies where it had lingered for far too long, and shot Lilinette's metraletta with the same fury he would have put behind shooting Ginrei Kojaku centuries before; the sight of ashes scattering in the winds, after two lifetimes of stifling hatred, should have brought peace.

It had not.

'I didn't get the _other_ one,' he said, through gritted teeth.

_Ukitake Jūshirō…_

The girl sighed, and clumsily rubbed his arm. Her touch barely registered against the blaze of hatred that always sat waiting to be sparked by any mention of the man's name.

'I don't remember him,' Lilinette softly said. 'But I know Stark remembers,' she added, in a whisper, making Stark think that it was moments like these that he dreaded the most, moments when _she_, who'd died an innocent, felt such unjustified regret.

'He judged you,' Stark said in soft rebuke. Lilinette simply nodded.

'Yeah, you told me,' she answered; it was his turn to nod.

For the first century of their existence, even after they'd become one, Lilinette's mind had had an odd, porous quality – it could absorb tremendous amounts of information in an amazingly short time, yet, like an overfull sponge, it would quickly drain and lose all of it before the next awakening. He'd found it painful, at first, even more so because he'd sensed that some trace amounts of it, never more than hints, sometimes lingered, causing her to suffer at the absence of words she'd mastered the day before, and wander aimlessly about trains of thought which she could not complete. Then, he had taught himself to be grateful for the lapses of her memory. At least she was spared the pain of remembering, of really knowing just what kind of existence she'd been forced into thanks to Ukitake's judgment.

With the passage of time, however, Lilinette's mind had begun to solidify, and she'd become able to preserve recent memories – at first. Then, as decades passed, the lapses had become fewer and further between, and she'd become able to remember longer and longer periods of time.

And this, she knew.

She did not remember, but she knew how it had all come to pass; she knew that he had loved her enough to wish to take her away from the fate of servitude that others had chosen for her, and she knew that she had died in his brief absence, victim to a human century of splendid ignorance, and the callousness of the humans around her. She knew that she'd refused to leave, and she understood that he had had no power to help her rejoin the cycle.

That he, as a Quincy, could only erase Hollow, not _judge _them.

That he had chosen her above his clan and called the Shinigami, hoping against hope that their rules would be fair to this one single soul, who'd been wronged by everything else. Instead, she had been sent to hell before Ukitake and the rest turned their attentions to slaughtering the last of the European clans.

And now, yet again proving that some were truly beyond justice, Ukitake refused to die… captured in Kyoka Suigetsu's web as he futilely tried to save Karakura and kept alive because Aizen thought keeping the man alive would be 'useful'.

Stark swallowed the bile that rose in the back of his throat, attempting to focus away; it should have been over, the man scolded himself. It should have been over, but despite the fact that they had finally crossed, and Hueco Mundo lied squarely behind them, his sense of incredulity stubbornly lingered.

Neither of them truly knew what they'd been waiting for on the roof of the 13th Division's captain quarters. As usual, Lilinette, who held all answers, guessed it first, and chuckled, slipping her small fingers between his.

'Would ya look at that,' she giggled, prodding him in the exact same place where she'd prodded him before, and making him jolt. 'Sunrise!'

_Sunrise._

The horizon turned blue, then red, then gold, all colours that the Primera had thought lost. Stars winked away, and the world was slowly filled with the green of leaves, the white lime of walls and the quaint, rust tinted tiled roofs, spreading into the distance.

'Sunrise,' Stark repeated.

He felt little but the warmth of her hand and the weight of her narrow shoulders against his chest.

'Our first sunrise!' Lilinette excitedly exclaimed. Stark had to bite his tongue.

_No, Lilinette_, he might have said. _There were sunrises before this one._

Sokyoku Hill projected a tall, lumbering shadow, much as the one cast by the unnatural towers of Las Noches. The shadow spun slowly as the sun rose, like the hand of a clock seamlessly passing through to the beginning of a new cycle of time.

'It's over. We won,' Lilinette decided, suddenly turning around and putting her arms about his shoulders. 'We won, Stark.'

He closed his eyes and returned the embrace, feeling her joy as he seldom still felt anything else. Sereitei was still and frightened in the wavering light of dawn.

_Sic transit Gloria mundi_, he thought.

The court of no-longer-pure souls sprawled beneath them, as the shadow of Aizen-sama's new seat of power stretched above. Yamamoto was dead…

'I love you,' Lilinette said. She meant it, but she didn't know what it meant.

Yamamoto was dead, but Ukitake Jūshirō was looking upon this new dawn, too.

Stark gazed at the Shinigami's world through narrowed eyes, and the hatred that raged hurricanes through his chest refused to abate.

_I'm not sure how much we've won, Lilinette, _he thought._ But at least I will surely teach him that they've lost._

_

* * *

_

Many thanks all for reading and commenting :)

Up Next - The Prologue, in its three aspects, is done, and it's time to get to work :)


	4. Monday

./waveth another tentacle

Good evening all, and thanks for all the kind words over our three-part prologue :) And here we go -

Chapter 1 - Where Ukitake and Stark get better acquainted. I know, this is going to smart...

_

* * *

_

_Monday, February 2nd_

_Occupation Month Two_

__

_

* * *

_

He awoke with the same eerie feeling of not having truly left the nightmare; it had lingered on his skin and in his heart for the past six weeks. He opened his eyes, and stared at the ceiling that he did not wish to recognise for a few long, excruciating minutes, taking in the long, polished beams, and the poisonous green-yellow yeast stains that blossomed on the white lime towards the northern, dark corner of the room.

Those, he recognised all too well.

He'd studied them attentively the first time he'd awoken in this room, and his attention to them had not dulled since - he knew still what they had looked like on the first day, when they were naught more than a suspicion of colour. Since then, they'd grown and spread, nurtured by the darkness and humidity in the chamber, and he could have described each minute variation in the stains' diameter and frazzled contours, for he'd often wondered how long it would take for the fungus to finally grow bold enough to begin its task, start flowering and stretching, then send its poisonous spores into his lungs.

In the beginning, Ukitake Jūshirō distantly recalled, he'd wondered if the fungus had been yet another of Aizen's endless little ironies; the brief time which had passed had taught him that it was not. It was only fair, then, that he'd dispense so much tender attention to it; the yeast was, after all, his only ally in this house, which was his cell in all but name.

It was the one thing that could still kill him, in this new world, where all other means of escape from the nightmare were utterly denied.

Sousuke Aizen's struggles in the King's Dimension had taken less than an eye blink, less than a breath - though in a reality that was not dominated by Kyoka Suigetsu's will, the struggle might have lasted years, Ukitake's memory of the combat had vanished altogether. The only thing that he recalled was that one moment, he'd been standing on a sudden rim of light, glancing incredulously at his mentor's falling corpse. On the next, he'd closed his eyes, only to reopen them in this room, and make the acquaintance of the yeast stains which flowered in the northern corner of the ceiling – not by courtesy of Sousuke Aizen, but by the ironic courtesy of the Primera Espada, who wished Ukitake dead nearly as much as Ukitake himself sometimes did. Not for cowardice, and not even for the sheer tiredness that often entangled his body in wet, stifling shrouds - for the sheer shame of having survived not the fall, but the perversion of the world he'd once taken pride in creating.

He'd not survived alone.

The many columns which had, for millennia, formed the spine of Soul Society had not crumbled as one, either. They stood, becoming morphed and twisted, proving that Sousuke Aizen knew where to strike as well as he knew where not to.

The Gotei, Aizen had smilingly assured his prisoners, would stand – the shards of its now empty shell had been summoned under the clean and freshly pressed banner of the 1st Division. Ukitake Jūshirō wished that the occasion had carried some overt threat of force, yet even the outright evidence of that had been denied to the few survivors. Rumours of the fact that Kuchiki Rukia was being held had surfaced only a week after five of the six surviving captains of the Gotei had been welcomed into the assembly hall with mock ceremony, but Ukitake had doubted that the fact that his sister was a hostage had held more sway on Kuchiki Byakuya's surrender than the knowledge that his own siblings and their families had been similarly rounded. As painful as they might have been, the vulgar personal threats had been no more than pointless theatrical accents – perhaps designed to seed the first doubts of their superiors' attachments in the hearts of the common Shinigami – upon the larger and unspeakable threat of full extermination of Sereitei and permanent shattering of the cycle…

If, indeed, any hopes of the cycle's preservation could still be entertained, Ukitake bitterly thought.

The only one of the surviving captains who'd not attended Aizen's inauguration had been Zaraki Kenpachi, but the fact that the 11th Division had barricaded itself within its barracks had perfectly served the interests of the Gotei's new command – _New Central_ had no further need of the 11th Division's particular brand of talents. Its quarters had been razed to the ground from above, and the few who'd not perished the devastating barrage of Cero and Barra had fallen to the combined efforts of the Primera and Segunda Espada, with such ridiculous ease and speed that not even their reputation had had a chance of survival. The Kenpachi himself had fallen a day later, gloriously massacring hundreds of Numeros before finally being being overwhelmed. He, at least, had proved his reputation right, though none remained to honour his heroic final battle. The only thing that mattered, in the end, was the fact that the Cuarta Espada's energy spear, cowardly shot from behind the massive Shinigami, had put a dry end to the legend of Kenpachi's supposed immortality. He'd died and been disintegrated, just like everyone else.

The Divisions that the war had left without captains – the 7th, the 9th, the 10th – had been disarmed and dissolved, their barracks emptied to make place for the of thousands of Arrancar and Numeros under the Segunda Espada's command. Their vice-captains, still deemed useful, perhaps, still dear enough to Ichimaru Gin and Kaname Tousen to be considered Aizen's gifts, perhaps…perhaps, another accent, another attempt at creating the illusion of treacherous harmony… had been the only ones who'd been allowed to keep their zanpakutoh. Among the others who still stood in the wretched divisions, those who'd dared raise their heads in the storm had rapidly lost them, and soon, those who still dared resist the exodus had not even been rewarded with death in battle. Instead, New Central had chosen to manifest its overwhelming power by taking all rebels alive to execute them later, along with their families – the walls of the 10th had become a display case for hundreds of hanged bodies, which had kept for weeks in the cold weather.

Still, it had been Aizen's will for the maimed and crippled Gotei to survive Yamamoto, just as it had been his wish for the Omnitskido to survive Soi Fon's summary execution; her throat had been slit from behind, in the captain's Assembly Hall and before all of her stunned companions. Kyoraku Shunsui, who'd been standing by her side, had barely had time to put the hand on the hilt of his sword, yet, though he'd failed to protect her, his reaction speed had been remarkable. Nothing, not even a change in Aizen's tone of voice had announced his intent – he'd continued to smile kindly, and softly speak the outline of his plans as Soi Fon had limply fallen to the floor. The body had been left to linger for just long enough for him to savor his former companions' outrage, and then removed with deliberate method; all had known that a thing so frail did not need to be removed from the scene by four who, but the clearly visible Shihouin markings on their masks, could have been mistaken for Omnitskido operatives.

And thus, Ukitake thought, passed the glory of the world – thirteen, to ten, by treason. Ten, to six, by war, then…Of six, two had been killed, and four had been sentenced to stand as the tattered silk gloves upon the iron fists of the unwanted new power, in yet another, perfect and deliberate choice. Kuchiki Byakuya, as the standing leader of a clan that needed to be brought to its knees; Unohana Retsu, as proof of the new Captain Commander's kindness and generosity towards one who'd always been kind and generous; himself and Kyoraku Shunsui…

Ukitake felt a coughing fit approaching, and pressed his crossed arms to his chest. He was cold.

…himself and Kyoraku, allowed to survive as twisted symbols of endurance, for Sereitei's new master did not wish to fully erase the old world. Merely, to pervert it in the image of his own creation – a hybrid Gotei, which was neither Shinigami nor Hollow, under the rule of a hollowfied Shinigami; the remaining divisions fronted by their old leaders, but placed under the de facto command…in the _shadow…_of Aizen's Espada.

The day of Aizen's first appearance as Captain Commander had been the last time when Ukitake Jūshirō had seen his fellow captains assembled. Though they'd been placed on the roster of the New Central, and symbolic seats had been preserved for them on the long oval table which now occupied the center of the Assembly Hall, the four remaining Shinigami captains had had their freedom of movement restricted to whatever premises their individual shadows had chosen to provide. Communication between them, as well as direct communication to their divisions had been strictly forbidden; an intercepted letter between Kuchiki Byakuya and Kyoraku Shunsui had made the consequences of disobedience quite clear – more limp and frozen bodies, one for each ten Shinigami of the 6th and 8th , had adorned the desolate walls of the former tenth, and Abarai Renji had reputedly suffered for days before he'd been allowed a merciful end.

The disappearance of Kira Izuru and Hisagi Shuuhei, which had occurred a few days after they'd been assigned to the service of the reformed 1st Division, had prompted a further wave of bloody retaliation. House arrest had only allowed rumours of the carnage which had ripped through the helpless and unarmed ranks of their former companions in the 3rd and 9th to reach Ukitake; in the wake of the two desertions, Matsumoto Rangiku too had disappeared without a trace, and though Ukitake guessed she had not been killed, he could not help but thinking that her fate, in whatever seclusion, and at the mercy of Ichimaru Gin, might have been worse than death.

Ukitake himself had been left to linger for long weeks, the expectation and lack of information was as excruciating as anything he had ever experienced. The Primera, who'd barely even made contact since he'd occupied the Captain's quarters and ordered Ukitake to his forced domicile, had not even thought the 13th worthy of a public appearance. Deprived of any other recourse and often only notified of new measures minutes before he was expected to respond to them, Ukitake had found himself in an all but inescapable position, and tried to keep the retaliation against his Division to a minimum Not because he'd felt defeated, or because he'd felt that there were no battles left to fight, but because he'd thought it wiser that once the time for battle came again, there should be someone left to fight it. Orders of forced relocation, followed by the confiscations of Zanpakutoh had finally reached the 13th a week before; it seemed as if Aizen's more powerful hybrids were indeed numerous enough to overtake the Shinigami, and further room had to be procured – above all the disgust which mimicked the fungus and stretched across his soul, however, Ukitake had learned to fear that the Primera's hatred for him would take the form of rampant and non-directional cruelty towards the 13th. Ill winds and dark rumors told of what had been happening on other Division grounds, and that the new Omnitskido, headed by the Cuarta Espada, and reinforced by the Shihouin clan, never allowed the walls of the 10th to run out of fresh corpses.

Some of those had indeed been rebels, but the bodies of plusses had been strung up too, when they'd not been consumed by the invaders; the Segunda Espada, Ukitake had guessed, considered that force and terror were the easiest means of bringing an entire world to its knees, and Aizen would not have disapproved.

The door to his chamber was brusquely pulled aside, and the bone covered face of one of God's new creatures appeared, without warning.

'The Primera wants you,' it said, dryly, then, not even awaiting an answer, it had pulled the thin, yellowish Shouji screen in place.

Ukitake did not move immediately, his glance lingering sorrowfully on the ceiling, and registering the infinitesimal new developments that this new day and night had brought to the green-yellowish stains of hope for death on the ceiling. He'd been allowed to live.

If any of this could, indeed, be called - life.

* * *

As always, it was not the sight of the transformation that his old quarters had undergone since they'd been occupied by Aizen's Primera to strike him. The changes had only shocked Ukitake the first time around; although he had never assumed that he had been that attached to his furniture and decorations - all things, menial things, in the end - Ukitake remembered that he'd felt an inordinate amount of pain at noting that his desk, the simple one that he'd kept through all the five hundred years of his captaincy had been removed.

He also vaguely remembered that the first time he'd entered, and before he'd once more met the icy blue glance of the creature who had taken over his office, he'd allowed himself to imagine he could have at least asked that desk to be moved to his new apartments.

He was glad he hadn't. This man, Ukitake thought, steeling himself for what would follow, was not going to grant him any favours, now, or until the end of time.

The Arrancar's hatred was tangible each time, and it vibrated in every particle of his oppressive reiatsu, giving the air itself a terrifying, hostile consistency. Crossing the threshold to his former office felt to Ukitake as if he had suddenly been submerged in some form of viscous, cold fluid, that allowed him to breathe simply because each breath was poison, and, in itself, constituted some form of revenge.

The two had interacted very little thus far - partly because Aizen's attentions had only recently turned on the 13th , but partly because the very sight of Ukitake Jūshirō visibly made Stark's skin crawl. The Arrancar had not even taken pleasure in telling the Shinigami that he wished him dead, and why; in truth, as soon as the Arrancar had communicated his reasons, Ukitake had understood what Stark must have felt upon seeing him above Karakura Town, and, in a corner of his heart, even wondered how he might have felt in the other man's place.

Still true to his nature, Ukitake had not, for a single moment doubted that the loss he had caused Stark centuries before had been real; though traditional thought outright denied that Hollow were capable of feeling, Ukitake chose to believe the evidence which lay before his eyes. He'd caught a very few, precious and furtive glances of Stark with Lilinette, and those had been enough for him to know that the two undeniably shared love.

Even more, and without needing further explanations, Ukitake had grasped that through all of the long centuries that had passed since the day on which he had judged the young girl, and Sogyo no Kotowari had deemed her too volatile for a place in the heavens, Stark and Lilinette had never truly stopped losing. That Stark was still losing now, with every day that passed, and that, in Stark's heart and mind, Ukitake was the cause of a fracture that would never truly heal.

Though he could not truly regret his judgment's outcome, the Shinigami still felt the others' pain, and genuinely regretted having caused it. Under different circumstances, he supposed he might have chastised himself for his inward hypocrisy - the fact that he acknowledged this one soul's circumstances, and still could bear the child he'd faced above Karakura no ill-will, did nothing to change the fact that he could not doubt his past judgment, nor deny his past fights and actions...and it was perhaps this very fact, which Stark, in turn, instinctively understood, that fed the Arrancar's hatred.

Yes, Ukitake thought, willing himself to meet Stark's glance. In the Primera's stead, he might have wished himself dead as well.

What made the entire situation even more painful was the fact that Ukitake had seen enough of Stark to understand that favours big and small could perhaps have been negotiated by anyone else but him; the man was perfectly content sleeping through half of his days and reading through half of his nights. In fact, each time that he entered his former office, Ukitake noticed that the pile of books which lay scattered aside the oddly shaped couch which had replaced his desk grew ever taller. The titles, which ranged through authors Ukitake had never heard of, but covered everything from history to philosophy to odd and long western poetry told him that this Hollow understood and felt far more than his condition might have led to suggest. Half drunk bottles of red wine also told Ukitake that under different circumstances, the Primera and Shunsui might not have had a hard time in finding some sort of common ground, some form of communication, that, in fact, Stark might have been a reasonable, perhaps even accommodating individual, and not a monster that vibrated with nothing else but hatred and pointless desire for revenge.

The monster that Ukitake alone awakened each time, without fail, and the monster that Aizen was clearly counting on.

He drew a deep breath.

'There seems to be some trouble with the housing arrangements in the Division grounds,' Stark said, not bothering with a greeting, and barely peering over the cover of his book.

Biding for time and courage, Ukitake slowly pulled the Shoji screen shut behind him.

'What manner of trouble?' he asked, at length.

'The - your people are not moving out manner of trouble,' the Arrancar had shrugged. He then straightened, yawned, and lay his book lazily aside, to gaze at Ukitake with malicious amusement. 'But - I suspect you already knew that, since at least three families had hand-written permissions to remain, issued by you, and I believe quite a few others are expecting that you will do the same for them.'

Ukitake remained silent, sustaining the Arrancar's leer and not denying his intuition.

'Do you expect me to apologise?' the Shinigami asked, at long length.

'No, of course not,' Stark answered, with another lazy shrug, 'though I feel at least mildly insulted by the fact that you thought I would not notice. I do, however, expect you to retract your leave to remain notes and proceed with the relocations as it was decided.'

'It is only three families out of four hundred...' Ukitake began, impotent anger boiling in his voice.

'It's the first time that you are asked to implement something,' the Arrancar responded, narrowing his eyes. 'I am unsure whether you should create difficulties at the very first opportunity, and set an unpleasant start to our...long, and I am assured, fruitful collaboration.'

'One of the three is an old, retired man that has been on these grounds since before I was captain. He and his wife pleaded to be left to end their life in the house where they lived it,' Ukitake hotly interrupted.

Indeed, the Shinigami thought, allowing his hope to get the best of him, this was their first actual collaboration; whatever tone was set now, would most likely mark every occasion on which Aizen would need his orders fulfilled. It was thus crucial that he found a way of communicating with this man, if he was to keep Stark's enforcement of Aizen's orders from turning outright murderous.

'The second family has just buried a child and the third are expecting one - do you truly expect me to relocate these people, in the middle of winter, and with no certainty of shelter...'

'I'd think that is self obvious,' Stark answered, arching an eyebrow. 'Else we would not be having this meeting, which is starting to look and sound dangerously like a debate.'

'Three families...' Ukitake continued, frowning deeply.

'See?' Stark perked. 'Here's that nasty debate vibe that I was mentioning.'

The Arrancar leaned back and looked on, clearly enjoying the effect his brutal interruption had had on the defeated enemy before him. In turn, Ukitake drew another deep breath, and took a step back in frustration.

'Three families cannot be that relevant to you,' he ended, softly but decisively, then once more remained quiet, letting Stark make whatever he chose of his words. 'The entire eastern quarter of the Division grounds is already almost empty and will be yours by the end of the week, as agreed...'

'We are still debating,' Stark replied, the growing resignation in the Shinigami's voice making his eyes glitter in open amusement. 'Besides,' he added, leaning back and stretching, 'it is a matter of principle - you have no power to issue leaves to remain...'

'If my decrees carry no weight,' Ukitake burst, forgetting himself, 'why do you need me to rescind them? Surely, you do not need three worthless pieces of paper annulling the three equally worthless pieces of paper that went before them.'

'Of course not, but there must be some inkling of a method in the madness,' the Arrancar provocatively responded.

Ukitake breathed out, hotly, then looked to the side, seeking to still his temper. Three open books lay on the floor, amid scattered pillows; a half empty glass of wine stood by the foot of the couch, a dark ring of caked fluid showing that it had been there for quite some time, all saying only one thing. The Primera Espada had never employed any method in his entire life. He probably had only theoretical knowledge of what the word meant.

'You have no need for any paperwork from me. You could well have removed those people without my intervention.' Ukitake said, softly, slowly bringing himself to admit that his greatest fear was coming to pass. 'This is personal.'

'Everything is personal,' Stark agreeably smiled; the glint in his eyes, and the light reflecting off the sharp canines of his mask made Ukitake's blood freeze.

Anger rose in his throat, making him feel as if he had been drowning. He had no choice but to collaborate with this man, he reminded himself, no choice...A burning spasm gripped his chest, and it took a miracle of willpower to keep the cough at bay. The Shinigami's breath nonetheless grew shallow, and all traces of colour drained from his cheeks.

He looked up, meeting Stark's glance; the Arrancar was no longer smiling. Instead, he had been gazing at him with predatory anticipation, as if awaiting an outburst.

_If he cannot kill me fast_, Ukitake bitterly understood, _he will spare no effort to kill me slowly.._

He swallowed dry once more, attempting to subdue anger, but also sorrow and humiliation.

'Is this what it will take?' he tiredly asked.

'Yes,' Stark answered, with a wide grin. 'Yes. Each and every single time.'

They sustained each other's glances for a tense, silent moment longer.

'Please do not make me render a pregnant young woman homeless in the middle of winter,' Ukitake whispered, in a voice that he barely recognised as his own.

Stark leaned back, savouring the first victory of many to come; still, in spite of the fact that he'd clearly obtained what he'd been searching for, he did not hurry to assent.

'This family...' he slowly began, instead. 'Do they mean something to you?'

The Shinigami lowered his glance, bitterly wondering whether an affirmative response would spell disaster for the young family he'd just chosen to shelter. He was tempted to lie, the response almost forming in his mouth, but decided against it just before uttering it. Judging by the Arrancar's expression, he either already knew who the young people were, or he knew he would find out soon enough.

'The man used to be my fourth seated officer, before...' Ukitake answered, slowly.

Stark nodded understandingly, his permissive expression speaking what Ukitake himself did not wish to think - that amid three strangers he'd attempted to help, he had, in the end, helped the only one with whom he'd had a personal stake. The Arrancar did not need to speak the words; a million rebellious excuses formed in Ukitake's mind without prompt. He thought of saying that the couple had wished for a child for over a century; he thought of saying that the young woman had always been overly frail - but none of it, he knew all too well, would make any difference to the Arrancar, who still had the power to refuse him, and probably would, as soon as he thought he'd built his hopes up high enough.

'She's six months along,' Ukitake said, hoping that the shy attempt at a negotiation would not immediately be shot.

The Arrancar did not hurry to answer. He simply contented himself on glancing dreamily to the side for a few excruciatingly long moments, making Ukitake wonder if even this concession was too large to be granted to one so hated.

_Let them stay_, he pleaded, in his mind. _Let them stay in their home until the child is born - at least that..._

'You will need to rescind the leaves to remain,' the Arrancar said, at long length - so long, in fact, that Ukitake had begun to fear Stark had fallen asleep with his eyes open. 'I do not think that written proof of circumventing direct orders will benefit either of us, once Barragan's lot moves in.'

Ukitake did not raise his glance, and held his breath, feeling unsure of what he'd just been offered, or even if he'd been offered anything at all. Though he'd hardly thought it possible, the moment of reflection had seemed to render Stark's hatred even more stifling, making Ukitake feel as if he'd been breathing in cotton wool.

'You may tell your officer that they can stay until the child is born,' Stark distractedly concluded.

Despite himself, the Shinigami breathed at ease, his reaction visibly causing the Primera no pleasure.

'That's all,' Stark said, once more picking up his book, and pointedly signaling that the meeting was over.

Not knowing how to react to the dismissal, Ukitake lingered with his hand on the handle of the Shouji panel. The tiny victory he'd scored made him feel as if the price had been worth it - in truth, he had not expected that any amount of personal humiliation would buy any of those he'd tried to protect a respite. The only thing that he could assume was that somewhere, in a corner of his mind, the Arrancar had found the cause worthy of a fight.

'Thank...' he instinctively began; Stark's gaze snapped on to his instantly, and was so charged with rage that Ukitake swallowed his words.

'Don't even think it,' the Arrancar hissed, his eyes so full of hate that Ukitake almost wondered if he would leap over the desk to tear out his throat. 'Don't even dare.'

Without even a nod, Ukitake Jūshirō turned and left the room.

* * *

Up Next - Predictably, Tuesday :)


	5. Tuesday 1

Good evening, and thanks :)

It's the second day of the week for our heroes, and myself and IVIaedhros are grateful :)

* * *

_April 10th_

_Occupation Month 4_

Ukitake Jūshirō supposed he should have found some mental comfort in the fact that spring had returned to Sereitei's gardens, even as the frost that gripped its inhabitants grew deeper and more chilling. At least nature's cycles and rules could not be defeated, the trees in bloom seemed to pointlessly state, and, though he felt poorly, Ukitake had fought to honour their statement by forcing himself out into the tiny gardens of his new home.

He hadn't been allowed his bonsai, or rather, he'd had no time to think of them in the haste in which he'd been relocated. He sighed, thinking they must have been dead by now anyway, then forced himself to draw a deep breath and think of more pleasant things.

His garden had no trees, just an ill kept little pond and a stone pathway that had been overgrown with grass. The pathway ended abruptly inside a solid wall, which made Ukitake assume that the garden itself had once been part of something greater that had been hastily and rather ruthlessly partitioned. Perhaps some sibling inheritance war, he distractedly thought, glancing to the delicate foam of white and pink flowers which was visible over the rough edges of the wall.

Yet another stolen view.

He attempted to shake his head free of this thought as well, but this one stubbornly lingered. How long had it been, Ukitake wondered, since he had had any genuine information about the world outside? he could not remember the last time he'd spoken to anyone who did not belong to his own Division, and, as months had dragged steadily by, even that contact had turned to a vanishing trickle, by fault of his own restricted movement, and because of the Division's growing resentment to the slow exodus of its Eastern Quarter. He still only learned what Aizen thought it useful for any of them to know - rumours of a third decimation at the 8th , when Shunsui had resisted the removal of his people; further retaliation against the 6th, when several high ranking members of the Kuchiki clan, who'd suggested collaboration with the new regime, had refused Byakuya's orders to commit ritual suicide, and taken cowardly refuge with the Katsoumi-Oji…None of them could be verified, of course, no more than the whispers which stated Hisagi Shuuhei's disappearance had given New Central sufficient reasons to take their revenge on the former members of the 9th outside Sereitei's walls.

What strength did these men possess? Ukitake wondered, looking away from the cherry tree, and towards the sky. What measure of courage led them to take such chances with the lives of their subordinates, fail, and then return to chancing? With Kuchiki Byakuya, Ukitake could bring himself to assume that it was a combination of pride and blindness - it was befitting the captain of the 6th that he would never surrender his pride, and make of it the reason to push forward even when it seemed pointless and irrational to do so. Yet, Shunsui could never be suspected of the same; always in the past when Shunsui had chosen to manifest his intelligence and willpower, rather than drown them in barrels of sake, he'd done so in such a stealthy and successful way that he might have proven himself worthy of command of the Secret Mobile Corps. How then did he not see that the situation was hopeless for now, and persisted in actions that clearly endangered the very existence of his Division?

And, furthermore, Ukitake thought, how could Shunsui live with the thought that even his most minor personal failure would have such bloody consequences on others than himself?

He cringed, not at the question, but at the answer he did not wish to reason through.

His own actions had seen to that the 13th Division had fared comparatively better than the rest, with perhaps the notable exceptions of the 4th and the 12th. According to other crumpets of rumours, delivered by those who now insured his guard, the shadow officer, an Arrancar by the name of Granz had raised such a scandal about even the most minor modifications to the Division structures that all plans of removing a single member of either Division had been hastily scuppered.

Aside those two, the 13th had been the only Division not to have a single member executed – and though a large number of them had been removed from both Shinigami ranks and Division grounds, all remained alive and unharmed. The 13th was also the only division who'd had none of its seated officers had been arrested or held, and, perhaps even more importantly, the only one whose newly implanted Arrancar contingents had not done any accidental damage to the civilian districts they'd been entrusted with.

The latter, Ukitake admitted, was not his merit. For all of his pretense of sleepy harmlessness, and for as unlikely of a commander as he made, Stark seemed to have the Arrancar group that had been assigned to him well in hand, and had thus far shown no interest in flexing his newly acquired muscle against anyone but Ukitake himself. He still barely even left the captain's quarters, relying on Lilinette to be his all seeing eye, and only intervening when situations threatened to go out of hand and Hollow hunger could not be sated by even the most reishi charged food.

And then, Ukitake recalled, shivering at the one time when he had actually seen Stark asserting leadership, the lazy Primera transformed into anything but his regular self; the way in which Stark had literally thrashed three of the more powerful and rebellious Arrancar under his hand, bringing them not only to their knees, but also within an inch of their lives, had reminded Ukitake of the way in which hierarchy might have been established in a pack of wolves. No conversation, and no attempts at diplomacy, just bared fangs, claws and the pointed, overbearing confidence of an alpha who could not be challenged by puppies.

Though currying favour after favour on behalf of his own people had taken no little toll on Ukitake, and despite the fact that Stark had stayed true to his word, taking as much as he could from the former Shinigami captain for each single favour that was granted, the 13th Division survived intact. Those who had had been relocated had not been sent outside Sereitei's walls without any means of fending for themselves. It was true, Ukitake thought, swallowing dry, that all those who had been removed had had their zanpakutoh confiscated, and lost parts of their very souls with it, but, unlike those who'd been removed from all the other Divisions, they had had something to head towards. No little pleas and personal humiliation on their former captain's behalf had brought them time to prepare a small area of West Rukongai as residence. The land had been cleared and tilled, and small houses had been erected; most of all, Ukitake had desperately attempted to make sure that the exodus of the 13th would not see families split to the four winds, as the painful exodus of the 7th had.

His people were alive, Ukitake had told himself then; his people were alive, and still together - and as long as there was life, and family, there was still hope...Hope itself was a form of resistance, perhaps the most powerful of all...Why then, the man wondered, did he find himself wishing that he'd been possessed of the same reckless resolve that seemed to animate Byakuya and Shunsui? Why did he look in the eyes of those of his Division who still remained, and feel that they would rather have lost their lives, than their weapons and souls?

_The dead carry no swords,_ he struggled to remind himself. For however rationally true, the notion remained abstract and intangible, and failed to bring even the most minute trace of comfort. His chest began to hurt; not the familiar twinge of an attack approaching, but something well other, sorrow so deep that it translated into physical heartache and nausea.

_Aizen is right_, Ukitake thought. _The heavens are empty. Even more so now, that it is us, the unworthy and lost, who is pretending to fill them._

He looked back to the tree, hoping that the blankness in his mind and the sight of its blossoms would bring some measure of peace; he found pink staring intently back at him.

How long Lilinette had been sitting cross legged on the fence, he didn't know. When she wanted to, the girl could make her reiatsu completely silent, which, Ukitake assumed, both her and Stark found extremely useful when Lilinette eavesdropped on everyone and everything that moved. Oddly enough, however, and in spite of the fact that the young Arrancar had been staring at him as if she'd been trying to read his mind, his mood immediately softened.

It was, he thought, that no matter what he'd rationally learned about Lilinette, he still perceived her as a child. The internalization of the fact that she was literally part of Stark's soul had failed to occur, and was not helped by the fact that upon closer observation, the two entities manifested so differently that it was all but impossible to feel they were one.

Where Stark seemed to have no curiosity for interaction with anyone but Lilinette herself, the girl seemed happy to talk to everyone and everything. She spoke to all of the Arrancar, and seemed to even have made some connection with the more loosely supervised of Shinigami children. Ukitake could have even sworn he'd seen her attempting to communicate with a squirrel once, by hanging upside down in a tree and chirping back at the creature that scornfully chirped at her, after a half an hour chase. She had an amount of energy that would have put anyone to shame, and moved at the speed of lightning, but was eerily capable of steady, unpleasantly adult concentration at the precise moment when she needed it.

As clearly, she thought she needed it now.

Ukitake shifted uncomfortably under her stare, but, though his smile was tired, it was also earnest.

'Hello again,' he said, shyly waving his fingers in her direction, and feeling unsure of himself. He'd not interacted directly with her after Karakura, although he would often sense her presence on the rare occasions when he met Stark. He supposed that the Primera did all in his power to keep her away from him, and he did not grudge it. In Stark's stead, he would have cautiously kept his soul away from one who had harmed it before as well.

'Heya,' the girl conversationally replied, her focus not faltering for a single second.

'What are you doing up there?' Ukitake asked, standing up and cautiously heading towards the wall, as if he'd worried the curious little thing would be startled and run off at the first abrupt movement.

He should have remembered better - she didn't even blink. Instead, she leaned a bit forward on the edge of the wall, for a moment looking as if she'd been about to lose whatever precarious balance she held and fall flat on her face - that did not happen either. Lilinette waited until he'd been about two feet away, then, to much of Ukitake's amazement, she leaned even further in, effectively resting all her weight on her frail arms.

'I'm lookin' at ya and tryin' to hate ya very, very much,' she answered, making him stop short. Not at the words themselves, but at the childishly frustrated tone in which they'd been uttered.

'Oh?' he chuckled, despite himself. 'And how's that working out for you?'

'Not too good...erm, well, I guess,' Lilinette frowned. 'Is it good or well?' she earnestly inquired.

'_Well_,' Ukitake said.

'Hm,' she shrugged, not sounding thoroughly convinced.

'Do you think it would help if I sat down?' the Shinigami asked - half because he wanted to asses her reaction, but also half because he was suddenly feeling dizzy with even the brief exertion.

'Ya were sitting down most of the time _before_ and it didn't work, but, I dunno,' she replied. 'Who knows, maybe it will work from up close.'

He sat in the shadow of the wall, looking up. He could smell the flowers that were just behind her, and, not caring for the fact that the deep breath would doubtlessly be painful, he inhaled eagerly; much as he'd feared, he coughed - mercifully, though it brought tears to his eyes, the spasm was brief.

Lilinette did not move, and, for a few long minutes, they sat in silence that was perfectly comfortable.

'If it still doesn't work,' Ukitake awkwardly offered, his voice still raspy from the cough, 'I think I have a lot of hatred for myself that you could borrow. As long as you give it back a bit later.'

'Yuh,' the girl agreed, oddly enough seeming to grasp both the joke, and the bitter truth that lied beneath it.

'You do know that it was me...' he softly began, suddenly sensing an eerie, pained vibration in her reiatsu. She'd meant it, he thought – their brief encounter over Karakura had carried no amount of personal malice, from her side, but now, she'd probably learned the truth. Yet, for the gods knew how long, she'd been sitting on the wall, looking at him, actively trying to hate him, and apparently failing.

'Yeah, I know _now_, but I still don't remember!' Lilinette furiously exclaimed, swiftly settling the issue, and sending out a wave of reiatsu so powerful that the too tall grass in the garden swayed, and a startled rain of soft, white petals fell from the tree behind her. 'I dunno why all of y'all keep telling me this, it really don't work if I can't remember shit...'

'_Doesn't_,' Ukitake said.

'What?' she asked, her fury quickly subsiding to confusion.

'Doesn't work,' he patiently corrected, then shrugged apologetically. Lilinette's pink, rounded eye narrowed, threatening storms.

'Your garden sucks,' she immediately spat, as if it had been the worse insult that had popped to her brain. She considered it for a moment. 'That was lame,' she admitted, mostly to herself. 'It's still true tho', your garden does suck!' Lilinette quickly reiterated, noticing that, despite his best efforts, Ukitake had not managed to stifle a smile.

'I guess,' the Shinigami admitted, taking a more attentive look around, and noticing that the grass was almost as tall as he was, sitting down. 'Yes,' he conceded, with a shrug. 'I think you're right, this garden really does suck.'

Lilinette seemed pleased at the fact that he'd borrowed her vocabulary, and nodded in stern approval, before resuming her unsettling scrutiny.

'So why don't ya do something about it, huh?' she asked, out of the blue. 'Your other garden - well, now, our garden - is much nicer, and the people say you always took care of it all by yourself. Or what?' she shot. 'Ya too scared, all of a sudden?'

'Of what?' Ukitake frowned, this time in honest confusion.

'Dunno,' the girl frowned, in turn. 'How would I know? After all that yellin' at _me_ with _that's the spirit! _an' stuff, you're acting like you're so scared of everything. I wouldn't be surprised if ya said you're scared of some tall grass too.'

The statement hit him as if it had been a punch to the chest, but he did not have time to react; cursing profusely, Lilinette fell forward from the fence, giving him the sensation that she would fall on top of him. He instinctively braced, but his reaction was not needed; the girl vanished a foot before hitting the ground, then reappeared, facing in the same direction as he was.

'Fucking hell, Apache!' she yelled, rubbing the back of her head, and showing that her sudden loss of balance had not been accidental; behind her, Ukitake winced at her choice of words.

'Dude!' another girl laughed, from beyond the wall. 'You're like a sitting duck.'

'That's cuz I was sittin'!' Lilinette yelped, darting upwards, to peer over the wall. 'What's the big idea?'

A tuft of disorderly dark hair and a pair of odd-coloured eyes appeared briefly, to give Ukitake a short and utterly disdainful glance.

'Your Shinigami is a woos,' the other girl stated, in no uncertain terms, as if three seconds of eye contact with Ukitake had been sufficient for her to judge him completely. He cringed. In turn, Lilinette looked questioningly over her shoulder, as if expecting him to react in some way - Ukitake avoided her glance, and, a second of intense scrutiny later, Lilinette drifted rapidly upwards, intending to give chase to her assailant.

'It's a girl,' she said, abruptly stopping in mid-air, but no longer looking over her shoulder.

'Who?' the Shinigami asked, in a small voice.

'The kid of the family ya wanted to keep here.' Lilinette continued. 'She came a bit early, but people are saying she's fine and her momma is fine. An' she yells louder than I did when I dropped a rock on my foot last week. The baby, not the momma,' she clarified, after a moment of consideration.

Her accusing glance shot through to his soul.

'Just thought ya'd wanna know,' she said, before vanishing.

A storm of white petals danced in her wake.

* * *

Up next - The Pink menace returns. Still on Tuesday :) To be posted on Wednesday. That has to be some sort of a bad marketing ploy.


	6. Tuesday 2

Good evening all, and many thanks for the attention over the past couple of days :)

Here follows the second part of Tuesday -

...Where Szayel Aporro makes a triumphant return, and must probably think that he's landed in the equivalent of magical candy land :)

_

* * *

_

_Tuesday, April 10th_

_Occupation Month 4_

_

* * *

_

She tiredly pushed the instrument to the side, yet again wondering at the fact that a thing so small could be so truly heavy, then pulled her notes close. She felt along the table for a pen, only truly looking up when she could not find one on hand.

The door of the laboratory was furiously knocked aside, the sudden, direct light making her lift her hand to shelter her eyes; the compound she had been staring at was mildly fluorescent, and, if Szayel Aporro was to be believed, it would literally glow once the reaction they - or rather, he alone - had been hoping for would occur. Her eyes had gotten accustomed to the darkness to such an extent that she supposed direct exposure to the even the bland lighting in the corridor might have been painful. Still, she was not been fully exposed to it - a thin, familiar shadow stretched over her, offering unexpected protection.

'What happened?' she asked, yet again rubbing her eyes, but managing a smile.

After months of working side by side with Szayel Aporro Granz, the least she had learned was how to differentiate a fit of artificial hysterics from a bout of genuine anger. The former, Unohana knew, was invariably accompanied by shrieking in a very high pitched voice, and threats of life-long torture upon any creature that happened across his path. The latter materialised as silent, but very poignant fuming, and absolute silence.

As if seeking to confirm her thoughts, the Octava did not immediately respond. Instead, he shut the door behind him with as much rage as he'd employed opening it. He let himself fall heavily at the table opposite hers, but set the box of specimens he'd been carrying under his arm down with gentleness ill befitting the storm in his reiatsu.

'It is not fair,' he pitifully whined, raising his glance towards the ceiling. 'Sooooo unfair!'

Unohana brought her folded fingers to her lips and chuckled lightly. Despite herself, she found Szayel Aporro's whining amusing every time - if anything, she thought, the Arrancar was as creative in describing the many various ways in which the Universe chose to stint his intellectual growth as he was with his circuits and chemicals.

'What happened?' she gently inquired, tilting her head to the side to indicate that she'd meant no disrespect. Not that the gesture was actually needed - the glance Szayel Aporro had shot had not reflected even a minute trace of anger, but rather had made him look as if he'd been about to burst into tears at any second.

'Something or someone exploded at the base of Sokyouku Hill; I cannot be bothered to waste brain space on the details,' the Octava surrendered, smirking in disgust. 'And, of course, as if I had nothing better to do...'

'Another explosion?' Unohana breathed, then cringed at her unpardonable lack of control; her heart, so at ease but a few seconds earlier, had suddenly jumped to her throat. Such events had been growing more frequent in recent weeks, in sign that Sereitei was beginning to recover its courage. Alas, the woman thought, sensing that a shadow of frustration had passed through her eyes, it was far from recovering its footing.

'Yees,' Szayel Aporro sneered; she hadn't had time to ascertain whether or not her lapse had gone unnoticed. She's simply seen a sharp gleam of light across the Octava's mask, before the Arrancar jumped to his feet, and started to pace.

'You see, Re-chan,' he began, in a tone that pleaded for sympathy, 'I am currently being held hostage by two armies of incompetents: one resides outside these walls, and sees fit to stage pitifully addled attempts that seem to blow up no one but the person who is carrying the explosives. The other resides inside these walls, and sees fit to have me, the single functioning brain of the establishment, wasting my valuable mind - not to mention, the priceless resources of this laboratory on something that does not, nor shall at any time soon, constitute a credible threat to anything but itself...Aaaah, I am surrounded by idiots! Except you, of course, Re-chan,' he added, in a surprising, sensuous purr.

Though she knew his compliments to be honest, and normally accepted them without false modesty, this time, Unohana had to force herself to smile.

She knew she owed him much; much more, in fact than she had ever expected she would obtain from a single, random act of kindness. And it hadn't even been that, Unohana had to admit to herself; she did not even know if, more than six months before, after her return from Hueco Mundo, she'd extracted Szayel Aporro Granz from Mayuri Kurosutchi's _tender_ care because she had intended to be kind towards the Hollow, or simply because Mayuri's actions had caused her to feel so much disgust, that she'd finally used her influence on Yamamoto to secure the Arrancar's relative freedom.

For the few weeks that had preceded Aizen's surprising, and lightning fast victory over the Gotei contingent in Karakura Town and the Spirit King, she'd attempted to make use of Szayel's knowledge in the best way she knew how - at first, by keeping him in a reiatsu sealed container, but then, as her confidence and genuine appreciation of his technical medical skills grew, by fitting him with a reiatsu suppressor as powerful as the one that had been given to Zaraki Kenpachi and allowing him about the grounds of the 4th Division. She had initially hoped that the Arrancar would eventually yield information about Aizen's stronghold in Las Noches, but had reckoned that if Mayuri's interrogation techniques had done nothing to make Szayel Aporro surrender a single morsel of useful information, continuing along the same track would probably lead to the same result. She'd thought that building the Arrancar's confidence in her, little by little, would be a wiser choice, and she'd been surprised to find out that as long as he was continuously challenged, Szayel Aporro Granz kept less grudges than a five week old kitten.

The true shock had only followed after Aizen's occupation of Sereitei had come into effect. Mayuri Kurosutchi had, predictably, been killed on the first hour of the first day, but though Unohana had half expected she would immediately follow, she, as well as all those under her command, had been left unscathed, with not even the most minor hint at any reprisals.

It was likely that the Octava had only been so protective of his new domain because he regarded it as his playground, and had as much regard for people as he did for other laboratory _resources_; it nonetheless remained true that Szayel would clearly rather lose a finger than harm a piece of equipment that he considered useful…and could not recreate, she conceded, still cringing at the first time that he'd seen him eating Lumina, then trying to remember what _current_ _version_ the poor creature was on.

As for herself, the woman thought, by the way in which she was treated, she must have been the most precious resource of all; but for the fact that after Aizen's victory, Szayel had sometimes begun addressing her in familiar, his behavior towards her had not altered at all, and she had perceived none of the loss of authority that Aizen had probably wanted. Quite to the contrary, the intended integration of the 4th and the 12th had enhanced her domain, and, within weeks, the previously forbidden grounds of Mayuri Kurosutchi's division had become as familiar to her as those of the 4th .

The surreal semblance of peace had come to an end when she'd learned of Aizen's intention of combining Hollow and Shinigami reiatsu on a large scale. The idea had terrified and nauseated her – not even he, Unohana had thought, would be callous enough to so thoroughly muddy the separation lines of the cycle and mangle the laws of nature. Soul Society created souls; Hueco Mundo compressed them by Hollow hunger, and none could predict the consequences of either mechanism's absence. It was enough that the human world had been left to its own devices while Aizen himself set about creating his unnatural new society in splendid isolation. This new idea hinged on madness…

But then…

In the aftermath of the initial shock, Unohana Retsu had gathered her courage, and coolly set about counting the few weapons she still possessed, with enforced mental detachment; refusal was not an option. Humanised Arrancar displayed clear sexual dimorphism, and though it was unclear whether they could reproduce, there was no shortage of means by which the theory could be put to the test. The only reason why Aizen would not have outright let the Segunda's legions run rampant across Sereitei was probably the fact that he was seeking to deal with one aspect of the world at a time, and did not wish to antagonize his newly found friends, the Shihouin, while he still needed them compliant. He wished to keep this endeavor secret, until he could be sure of its success – his project would, therefore, be confined to the 12th and Szayel Aporro, leaving Unohana an unexpected path of resistance.

Oddly, and for however despicable and mindless she'd found Aizen's intent, Unohana had not found it in herself to grudge Szayel Aporro's ghastly enthusiasm in setting about the task. His excitement at the new challenge was bigger than for any other problem she'd seen him face thus far, be it medical, technological or chemical, but then the challenge itself was something that most others – with Urahara Kisuke's notable exception - would have found unapproachable. Underneath his mask of flamboyant theatrics, she could tell that Szayel Aporro had been genuinely happy, and immediately assumed that her own enthusiasm was as powerful as his. He'd enlisted her to the task without a second thought, and for her side, Unohana had carefully steered clear of antagonizing him, while continuously struggling to invent as many technical challenges as she could think of.

The contest, she had to admit, lowering her glance to disguise a smile, had been a bit rigged in her favour from the very beginning, for the mechanism of Szayel Aporro's psychotic pathology, which had presented no interest to Kurosutchi, but that she had found immediately fascinating, was simple and correct_._ His exaggerated theatrics, but also the charm he could and would manifest on occasion were both symptoms of the same ailment, and meant to disguise the same simple truth; Szayel Aporro physically had no emotions, and, in turn, could truly not read emotions. His minimal ability of manifesting assertiveness or empathy where others were concerned was the result of his quantifiable knowledge of psychology, and an exceptionally fast mind – he'd taught himself to react to others in the same way others might have taught themselves a foreign language.

The advantage of this was the fact that, once understood, Szayel Aporro was remarkably easy to handle; nothing that left his hands could be less than perfect, and perfection itself was divided into three measurable components: elegance, efficiency and comprehensiveness. This simple filtering system had allowed her to field most of his initiatives without posing too much effort, and without making her opposition clear.

In the beginning, Unohana had dryly rejected his initial proposed means, which ranged from live insemination to full in vitro development of initially viable embryos, and patiently explained that Hollow anatomy was too unpredictable to chance any type of early natural crossing. She had then insisted upon all of the things that could technically have gone wrong, leading the too direct experiments to exceed all budgets, Aizen's patience, and ultimately prove inefficient.

Szayel had concluded that she was correct, and that perhaps the most intelligent way in which they could proceed was the way which had already been proven to work; then, the Octava had reasoned out loud, the ask of the problem would change from genetics to engineering, and power generation. Aizen-sama could not be expected to use the Hougyoku on every living Shinigami in Sereitei. The challenge, then would become to create a neutral reiatsu source capable of producing energy above that of an average Shinigami captain – the idea, which had great theoretical chances of working, had caused the woman's blood to truly freeze in her veins. For this, she'd had to take her bearings quickly - and, as the Arrancar had already jumped to a long winded calculation regarding how long it would take for the entirety of Sereitei to pass through the gem, once the generator was in place, she'd sighed and meaningfully looked to the side. It had not taken much more to catch his attention.

'What now?' he'd shrieked, raising his arms in exasperation. 'I've already conceded to your technical difficulties and budget constraints speech, what more hurdles can you possibly raise in my path? The Hogyoku is a viable solution...'

'It is,' she had shrugged.

'What?' Szayel Aporro had asked again, his shoulders slumping pitifully.

'Well,' Unohana had said, shrugging again, 'it will work, but it's still an unnatural means of intervention. Not many will take it of their own free will, and, at least initially, it will make the ethnicity problem far more poignant than it currently is. I doubt that is what Aizen intends.'

'Secondly,' she had followed, noticing that the Arrancar's attention had sharpened, 'your calculations over the duration of all the procedures are slightly...'

He'd drawn a sharp breath, his reiatsu suddenly perking and beginning to dance, in such a predictably menacing way that, under different circumstances, she would have been amused.

'...over optimistic,' Unohana had concluded. 'Even if you do begin work on the reiatsu generator, and your design proves successful, you have no way of guessing how long it will take to recharge it after each transformation. Furthermore, you are not factoring in hybrid stabilisation time...'

'Ha! There is no stabilisation time,' Szayel had triumphantly exclaimed. 'The process is all but instantaneous.'

'For Hollow, yes,' Unohana had said, sweetly. 'For Shinigami, no. For all we know, it has taken the Vaizard over a century to master their hybrid forms. Or - have you empirically observed something that I have missed?'

She'd watched him blush and fret for a few seconds, knowing all too well that he had probably never seen the Hougyoku's application on a Shinigami, but she had not forced an admission. Instead, she'd leaned back in her chair and given him a mischievous glance.

'Plus,' she'd added, 'I feel it is rather too...'

Unohana had grinned, noting that she'd captured his attention well enough for him to gaze at her in hungry expectation.

'...simplistic,' she'd concluded, landing the final blow.

The Hougyoku had never been mentioned again.

Once the most immediate threats had been out of the way, a small genetics lab had been set up, bordering on the grounds of the 4th, and the large number of blood and tissue samples that the 4th Division had collected through the years had been brought to bear. Matching it with an equally comprehensive collection of Arrancar samples had taken Szayel Aporro the better part of a month, and then. To Unohana's joy, once he'd finally been satisfied with his own collection, Szayel himself had begun to wonder whether the two physical tissue types could coexist on the same type of metabolic processes.

'If that is not possible,' she'd agreed, 'I doubt you have any chance of producing any natural crossings.'

'You know, Re-chan,' Szayel had muttered, academically adjusting his glasses, 'most means of assisted reproduction have at some point or another been considered unnatural…'

'Indeed,' the woman had approved. 'On the other hand, societies where offspring are exclusively produced out of a test tube can scarcely be called cohesive. Your solution,' she'd shrugged, 'does not appear to _comprehensively _answer Aizen-sama's intent_._'

He'd considered the words for a moment, crossing his arms behind his back. 'Correct,' Szayel Aporro had admitted. 'Hm.' He'd added, before turning away.

With new criteria set, Szayel Aporro had set upon the issue with more of his ghastly enthusiasm, disappearing into the laboratory for days at a time, and making what Unohana had initially deemed as frightening progress. He'd soon managed to isolate the physical components of both Shinigami and Arrancar anatomies from the purely spiritual ones, then methodically proceeded to grafting them to each other using the reiatsu as catalyst – yet, that was where his progress had halted.

The samples that Szayel Aporro had passed to her for confirmation, samples much like the one that lied underneath her microscope's lenses now, always behaved along two predictable empirical paths, regardless of what kind of nutrient or energy had been used for catalyst.

It was always either the Shinigami cells burning away the Hollow ones, or the Hollow consuming the Shinigami cells, without preserving any trace of their genetic make-up – even under a magnifying glass, the two races continued to wage war on each other, in a natural order which remained blissfully unconcerned with Aizen's folly.

Once fully confirmed, proof of this natural barrier would severely disappoint Aizen, and while Unohana's heart had rejoiced, her mind had found Szayel's logical and politically unconcerned approach to the issue equally pleasant. From his own, purely scientific perspective, the Octava needed to know whether his mandate was _possible,_ and he would have no qualms in telling his superior that it was not, if he himself was thoroughly convinced.

Still, Szayel Aporro Granz was rarely easily convinced of anything, and his new question had consumed him to such an extent, that, without the occasional New Central summons, he might not have noticed if the world burst out in flames around him.

It hadn't. Or, Unohana thought, at least not yet.

'What is the ask?' she queried, slowly standing up and gently opening the specimen box he'd brought into the room.

'What's the usual ask?' The Arrancar rhetorically inquired. 'They cannot define such a thing as _an ask_ - the farthest their addled brains will take them is: Solve the problem! Find the source!'

She chuckled, letting him know that his explanation was insufficient from any number of perspectives, and Szayel Aporro unwillingly shuffled over, watching as she extracted vial after vial of what looked like blood, shattered bones, but also two containing minute traces of gleaming liquids.

'According to previously collected data,' he began to explain, 'Rukongai used to house a doubtlessly ham-fisted explosive maker - Shiba Kukkaku, I believe. The Omnitskido thought that they had dealt with her, in the wake of the first few explosions, but, apparently, someone else has stepped up to fill the part of needless drains on my time...'

'You know, Szayel Aporro,' Unohana dreamily said, picking up one of the vials which contained gleaming liquids, and glancing at it in the light, 'you should be the first to acknowledge that a laboratory explosion does not necessarily kill all those within it.'

The sting did not pass unnoticed; Szayel's eyes narrowed a little, and he smirked condescendingly.

'Quite so,' he purred, 'but I, for one, shall let the Omnitskido chase their tails in determining whether this Kukkaku is alive or not. The issue is not of the most minor interest to us.'

He shuffled to the other side of the table, and adjusted his glasses.

_Good gods_, Unohana thought, suddenly falling prey to other, very immediate concerns. _Has he already understood that..._

'This is not of her making,' Szayel Aporro said, dryly.

'How can you possibly arrive at that conclusion so fast?' Unohana frowned, feeling that her heart was beating at the base of her throat.

'Ah, where others might take weeks, I require but a few minutes,' Szayel merrily beamed. 'Since it would appear as if I cannot evade this new annoyance, I passed by the 12th's archives before I came here, and I took a cursory glance at the explosives that were recovered after the ryoka invasion – an approach which might have occurred to any creature in possession of a cerebral cortex, but one which I am woefully ready to admit, must seem novel to the Omnitskido...How the world offends me,' he heart-wrenchingly sighed.

'Szayel Aporro,' Unohana scolded. 'To the point…?'

He huffed in theatrical aggravation, but then offered her an honest half-shrug.

'The two types of charges have nothing to do with each other. Shiba Kukkaku,' he continued, 'was a fireworks manufacturer _at best_. Her compounds lacked subtlety, and were clearly designed to break through walls, while causing an inordinate amount of smoke, and, I am assured, rubble.'

He shuddered at the thought.

Unohana tilted her head to the side questioningly.

'But it is elementary, my dear Re-chan,' Szayel Aporro answered. 'The two types of charges are completely different in both functionality and make-up. She relied on conventional explosives and fuses; by comparison, these seem to employ some delicate chemical catalyst, the balance of which seems to evade our inept, but mildly creative would-be bomb maker. And, more importantly, the thing that _everyone_ could have noticed with a mere sniff, and without employing any delicate technical decomposition process, is that these compounds, whatever they are, are reiatsu neutral. Shiba Kukkaku's little fizzly things were not. You may, indeed, be in awe,' he proclaimed, noticing that Unohana had paled.

The woman recovered quickly, and smiled.

'So, what is the plan?' she asked.

'Prepare the specimens, then start poking at them in a controlled environment,' Szayel Aporro sighed, his shoulders slumping pitifully. 'Whatever I start with, however, I must first replicate these two...substances,' he added, taking the vial out of Unohana's hand and picking the other one up at the same time. 'There is not nearly enough of either to form the basis of any conclusive testing. I'll then run them through a spectrograph to see what exactly they are - all in all, monkey work upon monkey work! It will take me the entire night!' he suddenly shrieked. 'As if that is what I should be doing, when I am standing on the edge of greatness!'

'Are you, now?' the woman inquired, disguising her mounting concern as irony.

He suddenly fell quiet and fidgeted.

'Szayel Aporro?' Unohana asked, when his response tarried. The Arrancar looked at her over the frames of his glasses, and she felt a twinge of fright at the lack of any display of artificial emotion. 'Are you making progress?'

'I thought I was,' Szayel dryly responded. 'Not enough progress to demonstrate,' he muttered, with a sincere apologetic ring to his voice. 'Now, with further idiotic delays…'

She could sense his sorrow, and withheld a sigh. 'Can I help?' the woman inquired, softly. 'If you want to focus on _our_...'

She hesitantly gestured towards the microscope.

The Octava genuinely pondered the bait.

'Is forensics within your area of expertise?' he asked, arching an eyebrow.

'No,' Unohana chuckled. 'But I can definitely multiply a given sample and run some spectrograph readings. Said monkey work,' she ended, with a wink. 'The raw data should be ready for you in the morning.'

'That is so generous of you!' the Octava chirped, clapping once to express the fact that he was overjoyed.

'It is settled, then,' Unohana replied; not willing to give him even the most minor chance of changing his mind, she decisively took the two vials out of his hands, then headed over to a different corner of the laboratory.

Though her heart was tiny and stung, she still cringed at the familiar noise of him opening the zip of his uniform sleeve, and then rolling it up; for a brief moment, the thought of the two vials and the sample under the microscope vanished from her mind.

'Szayel Aporro,' she gently said, not turning around. 'If you are tired, you should sleep.'

'Ah, but being tired is what we are trying to prevent,' he mumbled, his voice stifled by the fact that he held something in his teeth. 'Enough time has been wasted already…'

She placed the two vials in a stand, then sighed, wondering why she had uttered the words. If anything, she should have been pleased by the fact that his next few gestures would grant her an unexpected amount of freedom. Still, she spun around just in time to hear the hiss of the tiny hydraulic syringe, and see it become empty in less than a fraction of a second.

The inside of Szayel Aporro's right elbow was blackened by tens of tiny punctures, caused by repeated administration of the same intravenous injection; another, with less regeneration power would have torn their veins open weeks ago. She cringed at the sight, as she always did, but did not get the time to say anything else. Szayel Aporro softly slumped back in the chair - his tonic, something he'd devised alone and which kept him permanently awake, caused him a few seconds of drowsiness before the main effect kicked in.

Whatever else the Arrancar might have been, he was doubtlessly one of the most intellectually endowed and dedicated creatures she had ever encountered; his skill at everything he touched was undeniable, and worthy of at least respect.

Beyond that, and regardless of how much their roles had changed since she'd first laid eyes on him, she could sometimes only see him as the frightened, frail and thoroughly helpless _thing_ he'd been during the time it had taken her to wean him off Kurosutchi's enhancer drug.

In her heart, which she'd oddly learned she could distance from her mind and other interests, Unohana had already found that she could not blame the Octava for his terrifying lack of empathy more than she could have blamed an amputee for a missing limb.

She shook herself free of the incomprehension as to why he felt so desperately compelled to compliment his intelligence with inhuman amounts of effort, and more pointedly as to why she felt the need of stopping him every time he abused himself in such ways.

The answer, she supposed, was not relevant now. Unohana drew a deep breath, and once more turned to the vials. Before placing them in the replicator, however, she took a quick glance over her shoulder, and took a tiny swab of the vial which glowed blue. Watching that Szayel had not yet come out of his drowsiness, she swiped the swab onto a thin glass pane, and deftly placed it under the microscope, leaning in.

She frowned.

The structure under the lens tore and twisted wildly, and though it was familiar, it did not quite look like it had the last time _she_'d seen it.

_The charge is still not stable_, she thought, feeling her stomach was twisting with despair. _Still not..._

'Anything interesting, Captain Unohana?' Szayel Aporro asked.

She barely contained her start and resisted the urge of straightening like a mechanical arc.

'Only the fact that after all this time, you are the only one who occasionally calls me Captain,' she softly replied.

* * *

Up Next - Stuff begins to happen. Stark says he'd much rather it didn't.

Unohana Retsu straightened, and rubbed her eyes, though she well understood the futility of the gesture. After six hours of more or less continuous staring though the tiny visor of the microscope, it was not her eyes that were failing her, but her concentration.


	7. Wednesday 1

Good evening, and thanks for dropping by ^_^

It's Wednesday -

Where - we actually begin to have a plot. W00t!

_

* * *

_

_Wednesday, July 3__rd_

_Occupation Month 6_

'I've taken the liberty of summoning him', Stark said, resting his pointed chin on the back of his hand and dreamily glancing through Ukitake. 'He should arrive shortly.'

The words caught the Shinigami by surprise, and it took him a few seconds to realise what Stark was talking about. He understood it soon enough, however, and it took all of his strength not to recoil.

'You waste no time,' Ukitake noted, in as self assured a voice as he could manage.

'I am an icon of initiative, efficiency and exactitude,' Stark had responded, then yawned as widely as the fangs under his chin allowed, and stretched at his leisure.

Ignoring the open provocation in the Arrancar's eyes, Ukitake advanced towards the center of the room, each of his steps driven by dry anger. Though he found it odd, the additional understanding of Stark's vicious strength he'd gained since the Arrancar contingent had moved in the grounds of the 13th, had made Ukitake feel far more assured around the Primera; it was not only a question of comparable levels of strength, but also one of personality. Thus far, Ukitake not seen Stark strike out in fury, and though the Arrancar's heart might have been on fire with anger, even the pain Stark inflicted again and again on the innocent bystanders of his feud with Ukitake was dealt with a steady hand and mind of ice.

'It did not strike you that you could have given them a few more weeks?' Ukitake inquired, stopping before Stark's couch and awkwardly brushing a few books away with his ankle. The gesture seemed to irritate the Arrancar - his reiatsu flared briefly, but his features remained benignly distracted.

'The child was born almost six weeks ago,' Stark said. 'If anything, it strikes me that you should have kept a better eye on the situation, and reported to me when the child was well enough to travel. Or did your officer have no desire to see you?' he inquired, his eyes sparkling with amusement, and making Ukitake's heart sink.

The Shinigami had shot a reproachful glance at Lilinette, who been sitting on the windowsill, pointedly absenting herself from the conversation and chewing on a blade of grass. The girl was the only possible source of that information; Ukitake's visit to Kotsubaki's cottage could not truly had been witnessed by anyone else, and none of the Arrancar in the vicinity could have come close enough to know that once he'd been reluctantly allowed inside, Ukitake had been barred from seeing either the young child or her mother.

Lilinette briefly met his glance, shrugged, and looked away once more.

'I don't think I can blame him,' Ukitake bitterly said.

'Neither can I,' the Arrancar replied, 'If I were him, I would also expect the worst of you. Still, I think on this particular occasion he will have to indulge you. We had an agreement, Ukitake Jūshirō - that they may stay until the child is born. They have stayed longer than that, as proof of the fact that you are as good at avoiding the truth as you are at stalling, but they may stay no longer. Given the fact that you and your former officer seem to have some difficulties communicating, I've summoned him here so that you can tell him that.'

Ukitake's lower jaw tensed. 'Privacy would be appreciated,' he said, with a distinguishable menacing undertone. The thought of finally having to tell Kotsubaki that he would have to leave already filled him with dread; the perspective of having to do it under Stark's amused glance further filled his mouth with bile.

'Are you trying to kick me out of my office?' Stark asked, innocently raising both eyebrows.

It was Lilinette who looked to Ukitake this time, her rounded eye filled with the same odd expectation as it had been on the day of their encounter with Apache. Still, though he felt furious enough to do something completely uncharacteristic, and actually take a swing at the Arrancar, Ukitake knew all too well what was expected of him and fell in line.

'Kotsubaki doesn't deserve this humiliation,' the Shinigami said, slowly. 'And whether I am forced to tell him in private, or in public, my own humiliation will not be lessened. Why do you...?'

'Three reasons,' Stark answered, making some attempt at sitting up straight. 'The first is, of course, that myself and Lilinette will enjoy the sight. The second is that I truly wish to impress upon you the fact that the only things you get past us,' the Primera continued, giving Ukitake the distinct impression that his notion of us had nothing to do with Aizen or any other Arrancar, 'are the things we allow you to get past us.'

He stopped abruptly, as if he'd forgotten his train of thought.

'He needs to leave today or tomorrow at the latest,' Stark ended. 'Make sure he grasps that...'

'Tomorrow?' Ukitake breathed. 'That will leave me no time to make any sort of arrangement...'

'Yuh, well, if you hadn't been avoiding the issue for a month an' a half, you would've had shitloads of time,' Lilinette spitefully muttered.

'I thought...' Ukitake began, between clenched teeth.

'That I had forgotten about it?' Stark interrupted. 'An easy mistake to make, but a serious one nonetheless. I tend to remember a little bit too much.'

The soft knock on the wooden frame of the Shouji panels reverberated inside Ukitake's head as if it had been an explosion.

'Give us a moment,' he said, loud enough to be heard on the corridor, but with a delay which allowed Kotsubaki to misunderstand the second of silence for permission to enter. The man had already pulled the door half open, when Ukitake had turned around with fires in his eyes. 'I said give us a moment,' he commandingly uttered, in a voice that made the thin silk panes of the door tremble.

He made only short eye contact with Kotsubaki before the door slid back shut, and did not let the look in the man's eyes dull the edge of his anger.

'Give me until the end of the week, Stark,' Ukitake hissed, hoping that his voice did not carry outside into the corridor.

'I am unsure...' Stark began, not taking the same precaution.

'I did not mean to get anything past you,' the Shinigami continued, in a low whisper, 'though I had, indeed, hoped that time would dull the relevance of the issue. I do not want to disarm this man; I do not want to have him removed...'

'Which is precisely why I want both,' the Primera nodded. 'And you should have known that by now...'

'Oh, I know it,' Ukitake responded. 'I am, however, still in denial over the fact that you would obstinately cause willing hardship to an undeserving individual just to spite me.'

'The eastern quarter of your division grounds was assigned to Barragan's...my troop,' Stark angrily responded, finally straightening in full. 'Your officer just happened to live in the wrong place.'

'So you are, yet again, just being diligent?' Ukitake spat.

'And taking ultimate pleasure in it,' Stark answered, jumping to his feet, taking a step forward, and forcing the Shinigami to instinctively acknowledge his intimidating height. Still, though he was forced to look up to meet the Arrancar's gaze, Ukitake did not back down.

'Give me until the end of the week,' he repeated, putting his reiatsu behind his words, but though lightning crackled somewhere in the distance, the oppressive humidity in the room rose at Stark's will.

'To do what, Ukitake Jūshirō?' Stark whispered, in such a low tone that the Shinigami wondered whether even Lilinette had heard it. 'To make sure that this one is nestled as close to the rest of your Division as possible? To arrange that the neatly bundled 13th Division quarters that you are silently growing in West Rukongai are not leaderless? You've been stalling because you had hoped you will get time to share your intent with your officer, but he's been blindly obstinate in not wanting to see you, while you've felt watched and feared to press.'

Ukitake let out a ragged breath.

'Do you think that I do not see what you are doing, Shinigami?' the Arrancar asked. 'The strength of your troops only half relies on their swords; the rest resides in their links to each other, and if you could not preserve the former, you did your damned best to preserve the latter. You have been subtle - so subtle, in fact, that I think your people don't understand what you are attempting, and they will not understand it for a very long time. Perhaps they will never understand it. And I won't give you the time to explain yourself. Especially to this one.'

'He has until tomorrow.' Stark ended, in a low growl. 'Make yourself clear.'

'Come in,' he called, letting himself fall back on his couch, and allowing the pressure of his reiatsu to dissipate as if it had never been, but not giving Ukitake any time to recover.

Though Kotsubaki entered immediately after permission had been granted, Ukitake's gaze lingered onto Stark's for a few seconds longer - in confusion, or frustration, or simple, pure fright; in turn, Stark simply extended his arm to the side, bidding Lilinette closer, and, despite a minute hesitation, she joined him on the couch. As soon as she'd sat, the Primera had wrapped his arms around her, and rested his chin on top of her mask, then coolly lifted his eyebrows, prompting Ukitake to action.

'We don't have all day,' Stark quietly mouthed.

The Shinigami felt as if he'd been drowning.

The few seconds it had taken for him to turn around had felt like an eternity.

'Gods of nothing, Lilinette,' he'd heard Stark whisper behind him. 'Gods of nothing at all.'

If the Arrancar's words had felt as if he'd been submerged into a river of molten lava, meeting Kotsubaki's glance had felt as if he'd been cast into a frozen lake, and for as much as Ukitake had sought to find something, anything of what he'd hoped to see in his officer's eyes - not sympathy, but perhaps, merciful indifference - he'd found nothing. Kotsubaki's eyes held naught but fury and despise.

'I...'Ukitake began, finding that his voice had frozen along with his heart.

'Get it over with,' Kotsubaki cut in, proudly lifting his chin. 'We all know why I am here.'

'Kotsubaki Sentaro,' Ukitake heard himself say, 'by edict of the New Central, your tenure as Shinigami is to be terminated immediately. As such, you will surrender your zanpakutoh and be asked to vacate your allotted premises on Sereitei grounds by the evening of the fourth of July.'

'Wow,' Stark conspicuously whispered, 'it came out all in one!'

Lilinette shushed him audibly, but the words had reached their intended target already. Ukitake breathed out deeply, and closed his eyes, counting the seconds and awaiting some form of divine reprieve - from the sharp irony at the Arrancar at his back, or from the cold despise of the Shinigami before him...

Kotsubaki lingered with his hand on the hilt of his sword; for a moment, the hatred which vibrated in his reiatsu overtook even Stark's.

'Is this it, then?' he asked; Ukitake glanced up pleadingly, but, when he spoke, his voice was cutting and dry.

'Yes,' he answered.

Kotsubaki nodded, pursing his lips, then slowly, his eyes never leaving Ukitake's, slipped the sword out of its place on his right hip and held it out straight, almost daring his former captain to reach for it. Ukitake's hand trembled, but his overly thin fingers wrapped themselves decisively about the wooden scabbard.

Kotsubaki Sentaro did not let go.

'You would take my zanpakutoh, on behalf of that?' he asked, indicating Stark and Lilinette with a swift motion of his bearded chin.

'I have no choice,' Ukitake breathed. 'We have...'

He cut himself off, and looked to the side, avoiding his officer's unspoken question. Not because he had not had an answer to it, but because he knew the answer all too well.

_There is no we left,_ Ukitake thought. _There is no 13th, and he thinks it is me who has made the choice to disband it. _

'Please let go, Sentaro,' he whispered, this time in an open plea. Kotsubaki did, and his sword oddly felt too heavy to hold.

Without adding a further word, the officer turned to leave. A flurry of thoughts and feelings rose to Ukitake's mind and heart, the latter almost stifling the former.

'Most of the 13th have found West Rukongai...' Ukitake suddenly began, taking a step forward; behind him, Stark stirred abruptly, but he did not care - Kotsubaki glanced over his shoulder, and the very glance that Ukitake had been praying for stopped him in his tracks.

'Most of the 13th?' the officer growled, turning around at great speed and taking a step forward in his turn. 'You mean the others that you have rendered homeless and soulless for a Hollow that's pulling your strings like those of some pitiful puppet?"?'

'The New Central...' Ukitake started, in a shaky voice.

'Yes, the New Central!' Kotsubaki exclaimed. 'Did they offer you your zanpakutoh at the price of ours?'

'No,' the white haired Shinigami answered. 'No.'

'Then what could they possibly have offered you, in exchange for all...'

'Have you not heard what happened in the 8th and the 6th?' Ukitake exploded, not caring for the fact that Stark had stood, and Lilinette's reiatsu was flaring as hot as the sun. 'Do you not understand...'

'Oh but I do understand,' Kotsubaki hissed. 'I understand that the 6th and the 8th died with their honour, while you never even left us the choice of dying with ours. I understand that you are a coward, and you think us all cowards as well - it's the only way you could have brought this shame on us!'

'That is not...' Ukitake attempted.

The other shook his head, and left, without once glancing over his shoulder.

'Sentaro...,' the white haired Shinigami whispered.

'Spare me,' Kotsubaki said, once more shaking his head in disgust. 'I used to think that I would follow you into hell,' he added, softly and regretfully. 'Now, I am only happy that Kyione is not here to see what you have become. It would have broken her heart.'

The Shouji panel slid furiously shut, the dry noise marking the beginning of an eternity of silence. Long minutes in which Ukitake could think and feel no more than his own next pained breath stretched one after the other, equally endless and pointless. His shoulders bent under the height of the world, Ukitake found the strength to look over his shoulder, but not the strength to speak.

'You may,' Stark shrugged.

Ukitake headed for the door.

'No, wait,' Lilinette suddenly said.

As if awaiting naught else than a whiplash, Ukitake straightened and looked at her.

'Ya did't tell him the third reason,' Lilinette surprisingly bit - not at himself, Ukitake noted, in astonishment, but at Stark. The Primera clenched his lower jaw into a tight square.

'Lilinette,' he warningly hissed.

'No,' she calmly uttered. 'Ya didn't tell him...'

'And I do not intend to,' Stark muttered, leaving Ukitake stunned at the fact that, for that mere second, the roles of the two seemed to have naturally reversed, with Stark emitting an odd vibe of childish rebellion, and Lilinette holding steadfast.

The little girl looked towards the Espada in the same punishingly expectant way as she had at Ukitake, but a few moments earlier. Stark breathed out heavily, and turned away, nervously raising his palm, as if attempting to block her out.

'Fine,' Lilinette said. 'Then I'm gonna tell him.'

'It makes no difference,' Ukitake tiredly interrupted, not knowing whether he had done so because he'd been trying to protect himself from more cruel barbs or because he'd found hard to keep standing.

She frowned, tilting her head to the side. In turn, the Shinigami shook his head.

_No more of this_, he pleaded in his mind. _Just let me go_.

'It truly makes no difference anymore,' Ukitake smiled.

Stark looked over his shoulder with something that resembled satisfaction, and, without giving Lilinette a chance to respond, Ukitake pulled the door closed behind him.

* * *

Up next - Stuff makes great big boom, as Lili would have it. Szayel Aporro disagrees with her vocabulary, sigh.


	8. Wednesday 2

Good evening, and welcome to Part 2 :)

...where stuff explodes, and Ukitake gets an unsolicited cuddle.

* * *

He had not even made it thirty yards outside of the Captain's quarters when the cough erupted, without any of the usual warning signs; his breath simply hitched in his chest, as if the wintry air had suddenly turned to solid ice, and the onset made him feel as if he'd been severed in half. Ukitake bent over, finding welcome but unexpected support on Lilinette's shoulder.

For a few moments, in which the creature which lived inside his chest completely overtook him, he only marginally considered that he was far too heavy to fully lean on such frail a thing - still, the desperate desire of not falling to his knees in plain sight was stronger than his protective instincts. Despite the fact that the Shinigami must have weighed thrice more than she did, Lilinette held steadfast, and even awkwardly pressed her little hand to the back of his shoulders as he bent over, as if she'd been attempting to clumsily soothe whatever was ailing.

It was all done soon after; a deep, painful breath finally broke through the muscles' powerful grip, carrying much needed air and clarity. He could not straighten right away, but he struggled to lean less on the tiny shoulder that had been offered.

'That sounded fun,' Lilinette said, her eye narrowed with concern which could have been amusing under different circumstances. 'Don't do that again in a rush, huh? else _I_'m gonna die laughing.'

Ukitake found sufficient strength to nod, and tentatively tried to straighten completely. The world was still spinning dangerously around him, and though he put far less weight on Lilinette's shoulder, he still gripped it painfully tight.

'What was that?' she asked, when his breath had regained some semblance of a normal rhythm.

'Nobody knows,' Ukitake responded, feeling that the inside of his throat was raw. He looked around, feeling embarrassed of his weakness, and wondering if he'd managed to humiliate himself further by displaying it in plain sight. The road was mercifully empty, however, bright, toothy sunshine making the frozen pavement look like a river of gold, which collected the little streams of shadow flowing from the myriad empty side streets.

'Thanks,' he said, looking down at her and trying to smile.

'Mhm,' Lilinette responded. 'For sure. Wanna sit down?' she asked. 'I've seen funeral flags with more colour than you, eh.'

'Yes, but at home,' Ukitake said, weakly. 'I should not like...'

'For Stark to catch wind of this, yeah, yeah,' she hurriedly completed. She'd given him another appraising glance, and, judging by the look on her features, found him totally lacking. 'He does almost as good of a job pretending he's an asshat as you do pretending you're a woos.' she awkwardly offered, decisively starting in the direction of his home, and almost jerking him off his feet. 'Oi, sorry,' she said, adjusting her pace.

Ukitake remained silent, allowing the old, deep seated pain to regain grip over the new sudden one. The golden ribbon of the road unfolded before them, wide, silent, empty, and looking insurmountably long. How far was it to his home? the Shinigami thought. Less than half a mile? It might as well have been on a different continent.

'I don't think either of us is pretending, Lilinette,' he said, softly.

The girl had fallen into step by his side, and though his hand had slipped off her shoulder, their shadows still looked as if she'd been his crutch.

'Maybe you're not,' she shrugged.

A quick shadow moved in one of the side streets, too fleeting to be fully noticed. Ukitake did not actually notice it either. It was rather as if he had felt it; he looked in the distance, with narrowed eyes. There was nothing.

'Maybe he's not either,' Lilinette added, at some length. 'I don't mean that he's an asshat, that he ain't, but he really, really thinks he needs to be an asshat to you, so he's actually managed to believe and act like he is one for real.'

'Does it make a difference?' he shrugged. 'In the end, actions are what matters...'

'O'rly?' she asked, arching an eyebrow. 'So ya gonna tell me that essence always ends up imitating shape, now?'

'Excuse me?' Ukitake said, frowning at the question.

'Yuh,' she nodded. 'What ya just said is that only action matters, not where it comes from so if that's true then nothing we ever think or do that don't...doesn't end up as action means nothing so we always are what we do.'

She scratched her head.

'That didn't come out right,' Lilinette muttered. 'Gimme a mo'.'

Ukitake nodded, and tried to focus. His attention was adrift, though he found her words thoroughly fascinating; the road still unwound before them, strangely empty.

'What I mean is - you think that if Stark acts like he acts he must be an asshat, and that if you act like you do, then you must be a coward. That essence imitates shape,' she clarified.

'In the long run, I think it does,' Ukitake responded. 'If you do something, anything, for long enough, it ends up by becoming nature.'

'Ah, so if I pretend like I'm grown up for long enough, I'm gonna be a grown up?' Lilinette shot. 'Well then, instead of sittin' on a fence and trying to hate ya, I'm gonna sit on a fence and pretend like I'm grown up. Maybe that's gonna work out better, huh?'

'I'm sorry,' he awkwardly offered, not knowing what he was apologising for.

'Yeh, you always are,' Lilinette said, softly. 'Why did you not tell that dude in there that you ate crap for him?' she suddenly attacked.

He was too shocked to answer.

'I mean,' Lilinette continued, in a sudden onset of fury, 'how do you let him think that you're licking Stark's boots, when we both know you're doing anything but, tho' he's been doing his best to shove them in your face every which way? The amount of stuff that you've eaten up over the past months would be enough to make me wanna cough up a hairball, but ya still stood there and let the guy kick you in the nuts, like he was entitled to it...'

'Well, he is,' Ukitake said, simply. 'He was right in everything that he said.'

'Quit talkin' like we didn't all know what we know 'bout West Rukongai, eh,' Lilinette frowned, trying to look menacing but only succeeding in crumpling her pretty features into the most comical expression Ukitake had ever seen.

'Alright,' he honestly laughed. 'Alright. Maybe not in everything, but I could not really afford to let my intentions be transparent, before now. If they all had realised that I'm trying to concentrate them, then, word would have spread among them, reached you, and I would have failed. I still might. Can we stop for a moment?'

He stopped, without waiting for her assent; he'd heard something unnatural.

_Clinking of glass? On a deserted road?_

Ukitake looked about, trying to discover what it had been. The nearby houses' were locked and bolted against the bitter cold – the sound could not have carried out of an open window.

'What, can't laugh and walk at the same time?' she chimed, drawing his attention back to her.

'Nope,' he conceded, and this time, she too smiled in earnest. He was sorry to have to steal it. 'How long have you and Stark known about what I am doing in West Rukongai?' the Shinigami asked.

Lilinette fidgeted, and looked at him with great suspicion. 'For a while,' she answered, in as non-committal a way as she could muster.

'Has Stark informed Aizen...' he began, only to be interrupted by a fit of crystal clear laughter.

'See,' she said, between chuckles, 'you ain't a woos, and you're definitely not as much of a nice guy as you pretend to be. Trying to weasel information out of a little kid, eh? You should at least bribe me with candy.'

'Sorry,' he shrugged, scratching the back of his head. 'It's really important to me.'

The sound did not repeat, so he reluctantly moved forward.

'Will you answer?' Ukitake softly insisted.

'Nope,' she swiftly replied, clenching her arms behind her back, and amusedly watching him through the corner of her eye. She winked, to demonstrate his attempt had caused no ill will, then caught up with him with a skip and a hop.

Her sleek shadow moved along the wall, only to be swallowed by the deeper shadows of an alleyway - it was only know that the sound repeated, and Ukitake knew that he'd heard it. Something, too slow to be her shadow, moved in the semi obscurity. Then, there was a tiny glint of light.

Ukitake did not wonder whether he had truly seen _that_.

He decisively placed one hand on Lilinette's shoulder, keeping her in place, and not allowing her to cross before the alleyway; his other hand swiftly descended to Sogyo no Kotowari's hilt.

Lilinette spun around by half, then froze and instinctively attempted to pull away. The expression on Ukitake's features was something she had not only not seen before, but had never truly imagined possible on his normally benign and peaceful face - eyes narrowed in fierce concentration, and jaws menacingly clenched, Ukitake looked as if he'd intended to sever her in half with a single blow. Biting lines of reiatsu rose all about him, causing his long, white hair to sway, and his fingers, which had until but a moment before, felt frail and weak, gripped her flesh like an inescapable vice.

The Hogyoku had done nothing to erase the deep, bestial instincts that had kept her alive in Hueco Mundo. It was those that screamed out through all of her body, telling her to either run away or strike the Shinigami she'd been so intently studying but clearly failed to read. Instinctively, she brushed Ukitake's hand aside, her little forearm burning his, and leapt back out of the man's reach. Deep in the back of her mind, she knew Stark had already felt her and that she's only have to evade the Shinigami's reiatsu for a few seconds.

Still, it was not her that Ukitake's gaze was fixed on.

'Go home, Saitou!' The tone is one she's never heard from a man whose voice seemed only to deliver subtle suggestions and urgent pleadings. It was sharp, commanding and spoken with the implication that the other man move now or face consequences.

The other Shinigami moved slowly out of the alleyway and into plain sight, his heavy face set in rigged fear and twitching with conflicting desires. He stood stock still, gaping at the object of his pursuit.

Free of Ukitake's grip, Lilinette found herself standing in between them, suddenly trapped between two frightened dogs as they bristled and snarled and readied themselves to tear each other's throats out. Her breath moved in shallow pants. Ukitake's fingers curled a bit more around the hilt of his sword. The man named Saitou remained stricken in his confusion at being caught and took an unthinking step in retreat.

Ukitake misconstrued the gesture for a sign of victory.

'Whatever you intend to do, I am not worth your life and the life of your family,' the Shinigami captain said, his voice returning to its soothing, gentle tone. 'Go home, Saitou.'

As if the words had suddenly reminded him of his once beloved captain, and the very memory had suddenly fed his resolve, the man looked up, beads of sweat dripping over his fiercely furrowed brow.

'I...' he heaved, reaching for the folds of his kimono, 'no longer take orders from...'

The man willed himself forward, moving awkwardly slow, as crushed under a tremendous weight.

'...from traitors!' he shouted, flinging his arm forth. A small glass sphere of the deepest blue flew out as well, tiny lines of yellow lightning flashing in its interior.

Ukitake's reaction was pure instinct: Severing Void before shadow stepping between Lilinette and Saitou at the very moment when scalding light began to grow from the shadows; in the time vacuum that Shumpo created, he watched her eye growing wide in surprise, as the rolling fire mirroring in it approached.

The shockwave shredded through his instinctually erected barrier, not leaving him as much time as he'd hoped - he put his arms around Lilinette and attempted to lift her, only to encounter more resistance than he had imagined one so frail could put up. Attempting to move her felt like attempting to lift and shift a marble column. It was not that she was actively resisting, Ukitake thought, desperately redoubling his efforts, and sensing that the tongues of flame would reach him soon. It was simply that her body was frozen in shock, and her reiatsu had frozen along with it, giving her lithe form more weight and concentration than she could consciously summon in battle.

An overwhelming roar briefly filled his hearing, threatening that his ear drums would soon burst from the pressure.

Then, as unexpectedly as it had manifested, the resistance vanished, lead turning to feathers in less than a heartbeat. The girl's arms encircled his neck, threatening to steal his breath, her body clinging so closely to his that he stopped feeling her as a different entity altogether. Propelled by the explosion's push, and his desperate Shunpo, they flew forward.

It was already too late, however.

Fire spread through his hair as rapidly as through the fabric, yet the sudden panic at the realisation that he'd not been fast enough and that he'd have no time to get them away overpowered the pain - he breathed in, forcing sulfur into his lungs as he drove them both to the ground, shielding Lilinette with his body as his hair and clothes burst into flames. Lilinette winced, and Ukitake felt her heart racing in his own chest. Through the red glow that surrounded his vision, he saw that her entire body had begun to glow white, and her embrace burned as fiercely as the fires behind him.

For a heartbeat, he had the sensation that the girl had literally begun to melt and seep into his flesh, as if she had been entirely made out of molten metal. The dust and sharp pebbles bit into his face, and she coiled underneath him; the fire swept over and about them both, stretching itself thin towards the edges of the horizon. It was soon spent, but, in its wake, clear water and melted ice rippled over the smooth cobbles of the road, like a river of lava.

The twin spirits in his soul shrieked in childish fright as flesh blackened and boiled - a wave of cold water conjured from thin air swept over them to douse the flames. The contrasting sensations were painful in themselves - Ukitake gasped at the sudden change, and struggled not to pass out. He remained motionless for a few minutes longer, frozen in pain as well as incomprehension; his pulse had only now begun to race, but he was still too shocked to perceive any genuine pain.

Small blessings, he eerily thought, as the delicate breeze swept the smell of sulfur and burned flesh away, rendering the air unexpectedly crisp.

The horn of Lilinette's mask had gone clear through his shoulder, but he only noticed it when he attempted to lift himself on his elbow. He clenched his teeth, and softly pushed his blackened fingers between his chest and the Hollow's mask, beginning to press outwards. His hand was burned beyond recognition, but willpower served him well - inch after torturous inch, the horn slipped free, leaving a perfectly round and cauterised wound in its wake. Lilinette did not put up any resistance.

In fact, he worriedly noticed, she did not move at all.

Sustaining her head as if she'd been an infant too young to carry it for herself, Ukitake lay her down and lifted himself above her. His stomach turned.

He'd failed to protect the right side of her body; her arm and thigh were disgustingly rosy and raw, the burn mark eerily interrupted by a thin stretch of healthy skin, which resembled the contour of his arm. Her body still glowed, but the light which surrounded it was growing dim, looking as if had been literally draining out of her wounds. Unsure of what to do, Ukitake put his hand on her shoulder, then pulled it away as if he'd been burned.

Perhaps he had been, he thought, swallowing dry.

The brief contact had made him feel as if the marrow had been sucked from his bones, but oddly, it had numbed all sensation of pain in his fingers. He'd glanced at his hand, acknowledging that the raw flesh should have hurt hellishly, but feeling nothing of the sort. Tentatively, he reached out again, this time managing to delicately push her and half spread her on her back. Pain shot through his entire body, but deceiving heat ascended his arm for as long as the contact was maintained - healthy strips of skin, as thin as the radials of a spider web, but growing thicker with each passing second of contact, rapidly shot over the burn marks on Lilinette's arm and leg. She whimpered, turning fully on her back, and the sight of her body brought Ukitake sudden clarity.

_Hollow_, he numbly thought, glancing at the perfect hole in the young girl's belly. _Hollow, and hungry for reiatsu..._

He did not consider further; biting his lower lip, and fully expecting what would follow, he decisively placed his hand on the Arrancar's chest. Her skin rippled, as if myriad tiny strings had suddenly darted forth to attach to his fingers. The pain lasted little, this time, and numbing, pleasant warmth spread out, replacing all echoes of any unpleasant sensation.

_Like a spider_, the Shinigami realised, feeling enjoyably relaxed even as he understood he was literally being eaten alive. _She could kill me, and I would never even notice I am dying - I would just sink into the warmth, remembering nothing more..._

The contact broke violently, and Ukitake was cast several feet back, like a rag doll. The burned flesh on his back tore open across the rough pavement, and he suddenly felt so cold that he began to shiver uncontrollably. Darkness passed over him and through him, thin and punishing strips of reiatsu whipping at his body before darting to cocoon about Lilinette.

She opened her eye, stretched out her arms and smiled, welcoming Stark's embrace.

The Primera sunk to his knees and lifted her into his arms in a motion too desperate to be gentle. Though she cringed at the initial movement, the girl wrapped her arms about his neck and her legs about his waist, crossing her ankles behind him and burying her cheek in his shoulder. Tiny, white fingers ran through the wavy, dark strands of Stark's hair. No longer advancing like a shy spider web, but growing outwards at amazing speed, healthy skin began to spread in all directions. The glow that surrounded her body stabilised and dulled - she closed her eye, sighing with pleasure, and Stark kissed her eyelid, then her forehead, passing his gloved hand over her cheek, and forcing all scars to recede. Faded, blonde strands, thick and healthy, swiftly grew back in place, and the breeze caused them to tickle her chin. She giggled, simply holding him tighter.

'I'm OK,' she soothingly whispered.

Stark grunted as if he did not believe her. He did not let go, and though tides of pain were steadily rising, Ukitake dazedly watched the two simply falling away from the world, and willing prisoners to each other.

'I'm OK,' Lilinette repeated, at length, reassuringly kissing Stark's forehead. He pushed her a few inches away, and attentively scrutinised her. 'So this is what it takes to make ya look at my chest!' she laughed; his reiatsu vibrated, but not with amusement.

Stark looked over his shoulder to Ukitake; his glance only lingered on the Shinigami for a mere second, and Ukitake could not truly tell if he could read any emotion in the Arrancar's blue eyes. Stark's gaze swept over him and beyond him - and it was only now that Ukitake truly acknowledged that he felt panic.

He looked over his shoulder in turn, taking note of the smoking heap of flesh and cloth that the explosion had reduced his former subordinate to; he attempted to move. His body would not obey, but he scrambled, cursing the pain and helplessness which kept him in place as the Primera rose above him, letting Lilinette slip free of his arms.

'No,' Ukitake managed, as Stark's shadow glided over him.

Stark took no notice, and the Shinigami's efforts redoubled with despair.

Saitou too struggled to rise, but his efforts were as doomed as Ukitake's own. He lifted himself on his knee, than eerily stood for a mere moment - charred and wavering, he fell back down. Ukitake cursed under his breath, while Stark passed him with assured, heavy steps.

The Primera began to slide off his right hand glove. Jagged, fanged mouths had taken shape about his figure, writhing in anticipation; long, nervous fingers stretched impatiently.

'He did not mean to...'Ukitake said.

This time, he managed to push himself to his feet, and though he immediately wavered, and had to seek support on the wall he'd been cast against, Ukitake felt as triumphant as if he'd ran barefoot though hell, and emerged on the other side.

The other Shinigami had stood as well, thin wisps of smoke rising out of his burned body. He only stood against the Primera's white, resplendent figure for a fleeting second.

'Go back to Hell, Hollow,' the man said, in a voice that was not human.

Stark tilted his head to the side, and slowly lifted his arm. To Ukitake's horror, Saitou did not waver, impending death and the weight of his injuries cancelling whatever shred of self preservation instincts he might have had.

'And take all of your minions with you,' he cackled, his insanity filled gaze triumphantly fixed on Ukitake. The words were his last.

He screamed, and bent over abruptly, his entire body breaking as if it had been no more than a twig. Ashes drifted loose of his body, quickly morphing into shards of blue light, then swirling towards the Primera's open hand.

Ukitake pushed himself forth, his hand leaving a bloodied trail on the wall as he dragged himself onwards.

'Stop,' he breathed. 'Stop.'

The other Shinigami screamed once more, collapsing to the side. His body was stripped bare of the burned cloth, and all wounds had all but melted away - tiny fragments of skin and flesh, held together by thin wisps of blood now tore loose of his body, melding into streams of blue light.

Ukitake tensed his fingers against the wall, feeling each tiny imperfection as if it had been a canyon and each ridge as if it had been a mountain. He pushed himself straight.

And come what may, he thought, as he resolutely stepped in between Stark and the other man's fallen body.

Stark's reiatsu absorbing power had nothing in common with Lilinette's. It only made sense, Ukitake thought, feeling that what remained of his own flesh was being shredded and torn loose. On her own, the girl was weak. She needed her deceiving warmth, she needed it to numb the prey before it could break loose, whereas he...He had no need of numbing, of pretending, of disguising his strength...

The Primera closed his fist, the snappy gesture bringing an abrupt end to an abyss of pain.

'Step aside,' Stark said.

'He did not mean to...' Ukitake heaved, slipping to one knee.

'I now owe you a debt of gratitude.' the Primera growled. 'Do not make me renege it - step aside, Ukitake Jūshirō.'

'He did not mean to hurt her,' the former captain pleaded. 'It was me. He meant to kill me...Is this not what you wanted?' Ukitake asked, his voice as frail as his wavering strength. He fell forward, having to lean on his fist to keep himself up, but worriedly glanced over his shoulder nonetheless. 'They hate me enough that they wish me dead now - this one, who attempted it, but also all of the others, who locked themselves in their homes and left him the space to do it...is this not what you wanted, Stark?'

The Primera did not look to him, but to Lilinette.

'I'd be dead without him,' she whispered.

Stark swallowed dry, visibly torn between the fact that he recognised her words as truth, and anger which demanded an outlet; when his glance once more shifted to Ukitake, it carried little gratitude. It was, Ukitake thought, almost as if the Arrancar had been desperately trying to find some dastardly, rational explanation for his enemy's gesture, anything that would help him dismiss it, and allow him to return to his hatred. He could find none, and, for a single second deprived of the feeling which had guided his actions for months, Stark looked lost, weak and thoroughly alone.

Ukitake slipped slowly to the side, feeling the thin sheet of ice melt underneath his fingers; he tried to close his eyes, and imagined that darkness would bring peace and release from all pain and all doubt.

Stark knelt by his side. As in a dream, Ukitake saw his enemy's eyes riddled with pain and hesitation.

'Help him,' Ukitake whispered. 'Help him first.'

* * *

Up next - Had Ukitake known that help implies Szayel Aporro, he probably would not have asked.

* * *

_Note - ;) Just to clarify - these early chapters break my (Abstract's rule) of ~4.5-5k words per chapter. IVI himself is a man of few rules, when it comes to chapter length :) In any event, that is the reason why these come as multiple postings - they are simply too long to up all in one, but should be read as one._


	9. Wednesday 3

Hello, hello, end of the week, end of the day. Wednesday, part 3...

Where Hanatarou is quite helpless and hapless, poor mite :)

* * *

'Is it absolutely impossible to make myself understood?' Szayel Aporro shrieked, his voice as present and as painfully loud as if it had had the ability of piercing through walls and doors. 'Do none of you have the basic ability of understanding articulated speech? Should I attempt to communicate in smoke signals? Or rather, short electrical impulses delivered directly to the inside of your skull?'

'No, I mean, yes, but...no, but...' Hanatorou's voice shyly rang out, as hurried steps approached from the far end of the corridor.

The door to the tiny, secluded reserve opened hastily, and the little Shinigami peered inside, his face flushed with fright and embarrassment.

'Just...Just a moment, Stark-sama,' he apologetically uttered, closing the door after him, then running away. 'Please, Szayel Aporro-sama...' he weakly pleaded, at the far end of the corridor.

The long floorboards creaked under a new set of steps, unhurried, but heavy and belligerent.

'How many times must I repeat myself, you excruciatingly poor excuse for a sentient being! Never, under any circumstances, should I ever be disturbed while I am in the genetics...'

The door swung aside, hitting so fiercely against the wall that a few pieces of plaster came loose and fell to the floor.

'...laboratory,' the Octava ended, his voice suddenly receding to a bearable level.

With remarkable presence of spirit, Szayel Aporro stretched his left hand behind him, deftly placing his hand over the face of the frightened little Shinigami that scurried behind him, crunching his features flat, but also preventing from bumping into his back.

It took him less than a second to assess the situation, and, Stark grudgingly thought, the clues would have been hard to miss even for one who possessed a tenth of Szayel's vaunted intellect.

The room they were in, which had probably been intended as examination room for patients who gave signs of infectious ailments, and which was located in a remote corner of the 4th Division's central building, only held two simple beds. The sight of the unconscious and unknown Shinigami who lay on one of them held Szayel Aporro's attention for less than a fraction of a second; in turn, the remains of Ukitake's white haori captured and held the Octava's gaze as if they'd carried magical powers.

Szayel Aporro smiled wide, with an expression that Stark clearly recognised as a herald of disaster. He pushed Hanatarou back, with a gesture that seemed effortless, but nonetheless carried sufficient force to make the small Shinigami tumble backwards. The Octava slammed the door shut, stifling Hanatarou's pained yelp, then meticulously adjusted his glasses, and clenched his hands behind his back.

'This...well, hm,' he ominously purred; like very few things in the universe, the words and the smooth, sweet tone in which they had been uttered made Stark cringe. 'What have we here?'

'Two accidents,' Stark indifferently said.

The Primera stilled his breath, knowing all too well that this was only the beginning, and not the end of a conversation he did not wish to have. Still, he thought, casting an uncertain glance at Lilinette, the seriousness of the Shinigami's injuries had left them with no other options; the attacker was on the very verge of death, his reiatsu weaker than the flame of a candle, while Ukitake...

Stark looked at the former captain of the 13th, then shifted his glance away, finding the sight too hard to bear.

The maturity of Ukitake's reiatsu made it his condition far more difficult to assess. Though the Shinigami's energies ran exceedingly low, and his body had been all but torn to shreds, he appeared and felt far more stable than he should have been.

And sadly, Stark fancied he knew exactly why that was.

He would have recognised Lilinette's soothing energies under any conditions, and over a ten mile radius. It was not the fact that Ukitake was not dying that made his reiatsu so deceivingly steady, the Primera knew. It was that he did not feel that he was, an effect that Stark himself had experienced many times over his long years, and that had often saved their lives by keeping him oblivious to his injuries and in shape to fight.

Recognising her reiatsu within Ukitake's dwindling energy made Stark's stomach twist with pain and disgust, even more than the sight of her standing by the Shinigami's bedside. For what was worse, Lilinette's own halo had borrowed something of Ukitake's flavour, something the Primera could not truly place. She'd never been very good at quickly harmonising the reiatsu she absorbed; that had always been his ability, and even when she had absorbed other Hollow, their flavour had persisted within hers for a very long time. The fact that she had just consumed a large amount of Shinigami energy and that she had not yet converted it to her own should not have worried him to such an extent...

He nervously ran his fingers through his hair, desperately wishing that Lilinette would get away from the Shinigami; wishing that she would stop smiling. Wishing that Ukitake would stop trying to reassuringly smile back...

'Two completely unrelated accidents,' Stark repeated, willing his glance away from Lilinette.

'Aha,' Szayel Aporro excitedly nodded, as if a great mystery had been clarified beyond question. He amusedly pursed his lips, and defiantly sustained Stark's glance for a second longer, then slowly approached Ukitake's bedside.

'Aaah, it is a disaster!' Szayel Aporro shrieked, covering his mouth with his hands in open horror. He leaned in, attentively taking in Ukitake's injuries. 'All the pretty hair! Burned!' Szayel whined, reaching out for a strand of the Shinigami's white tresses. Ukitake's eyes widened in shock and, despite the pain, he pressed himself into the mattress, and away from the Arrancar's fingers. 'This shall never recover,' the Octava decreed, shaking his head with sorrow befitting a death announcement.

He nonetheless cut off a strand of hair, letting the clippings fall into a small, self sealing specimen bag.

Lilinette frowned, and swiftly stepped on the Primera's foot.

'Szayel Aporro,' Stark began, in irritation. 'Would you kindly...?'

'Oh don't fret, if he did not die on the spot, he will certainly not bite it now,' the Octava merrily commented. With a gesture rendered completely unpredictable by the tone of his voice, Szayel Aporro swiftly opened a hidden chest pocket, extracted a small syringe and stabbed it into Ukitake's shoulder - the Shinigami whimpered and almost sat up, more in surprise than in pain, but immediately slumped back, as his muscles relaxed.

'I am surprised at you, Captain Ukitake,' Szayel said; despite the fact that the Shinigami was desperately trying to focus, the Octava's voice had had an eerie, unpleasant echo, as if the Arrancar had been speaking from the far end of a cave. 'These burns should have had you screaming on top of your lungs...You are either very brave, or have a pain threshold that borders on insanity. I am leaning for the latter,' Szayel Aporro softly whispered, leaning in so close that Ukitake could smell the antiseptic off his lab coat and strawberries off his skin.

The Octava straightened and used Sonido to get to the door. He abruptly opened it, causing Hanatarou, who'd been leaning his ear on it to fall flat on his face inside the room.

'Uhm,' the little Shinigami said, looking up at the three Arrancar who were menacingly standing over him. 'I...slipped?'

'Never mind him, he is the company mascot,' Szayel calmly explained. 'We keep him around just in case we run out of lab rats!' he continued, the growing crescendo leading the end of the phrase into a piercing shriek.

Hanatarou madly scrambled to his feet, in such a desperate rush that Lilinette giggled. The little Shinigami swallowed dry, but though he was clearly still terrified, he bent to the side to look behind the Arrancar and try to assess the condition of the two other Shinigami on his own. He did not need long, and the expression on his features changed from fear to terrible concern.

'Indeed,' Szayel sternly said, noticing the look in his eyes. 'So no more brainless spy games, if you please.'

'Should I go get Ca...Unohana-san?' Hanatarou asked.

'No!' Stark and Ukitake said, at the same time, with equal amounts of fright and determination; neither of the two, the Octava understood, wanted the accidents to go any further than they absolutely had to.

Szayel Aporro looked over his shoulder and cackled.

'Should I feel flattered or abused, I wonder?' he mused, sweetly tilting his head to the side, and cradling his chin in his folded fingers. He left them no time to respond.

'Anesthetic drips,' he ordered, beginning to pace, in a wide circle, with Hanatarou comically following him about the room. 'Bring them over, set them to push - scissors, of course, to remove all of the burned fabric...Cooling packs, oxygen tents, oxygen tanks; reiatsu diffusers and sekki stone to focus them. Got all that?'

Hanatarou nodded.

'I somehow doubt it,' Szayel Aporro sighed. 'But, let us see how much of the list you can actually remember...Why are you still here? Go, go, go!' he screamed, clapping after each word; the little Shinigami vanished as if the very fires of hell had been burning at his heels.

'Can you trust him?' Stark quietly questioned, turning around and motioning for Szayel to approach.

'He has the memory span of a goldfish,' Szayel Aporro beamed. 'Unlike me,' he added, with the same winning smile.

Though Szayel Aporro had headed for Saitou's bed, his words had not been wasted on Ukitake. The Shinigami focused through the haze of the anesthetic and pleadingly looked towards the Primera; Stark avoided his glance and abruptly turned away. He leaned against the windowsill, pressing his index to his forehead, and trying to force the growing migraine to recede.

He watched Szayel Aporro carefully lift one of the last remaining pieces of burned cloth on the Shinigami's body, and tiredly wondered how long it would take the Octava to recognise the reiatsu traces of his attack. Stark only had to count to five before Szayel Aporro looked over his shoulder with a telling grin, then bagged it, as he had done with the tips of Ukitake's hair.

Hanatarou returned, carrying two metallic IV stands and a few sheets of transparent plastic, then wheeled in a few cylindrical containers that were almost twice his size, and, for the next half hour, the room was flush with frantic activity.

Blue sachets, which radiated an unpleasant cold aura, were bundled around the two Shinigami, and the two thin sheets of plastic were hung from thin, translucent rails over their beds.

'What's that for?' Lilinette asked, when Szayel Aporro began to carefully attach a long tube to a specially designed tap on top of the rail which stretched over Ukitake's bed.

The Octava looked down at her, then attached the other end of the tube to one of the oxygen tanks.

'To maintain sufficient levels of oxygenation in his blood,' Szayel distractedly responded, kneeling by the tank and adjusting the pressure to the correct level. An influx of cold air flooded the inside of the transparent plastic, making Ukitake's breath come out as thin, hot looking vapour. 'One breathes through one's skin,' he further clarified.

'Really?' Lilinette inquired, her eye growing wide.

'No, Lilinette, I am making this up to entertain you,' Szayel Aporro snarled, then swiftly stood and, with a lightning fast gesture, caught Hanatarou by the back of his kimono stopping him in his tracks. 'Would you care to explain what you plan to do with those?' he asked, in a deceivingly sweet tone, indicating the long strips of cloth that the Shinigami had been carrying.

'I thought I could start dressing...' Hanatarou stuttered, his eyes darting from Ukitake to Stark, as if either of the two could help him out of his predicament.

'Really?' Szayel purred. He let go of the Shinigami's collar, but menacingly leaned in over him, causing his diminutive figure to shrink even further. 'Seventh seat Hanatarou,' he thundered. 'Can you please talk me through the standard procedure of managing burns before I decide to stuff all the tongue depressors in this Division into the wrong end of your digestive system for my own personal entertainment?'

'I am, uh...sure, eh...that you know it very well, Szayel Aporro-sama!' the Shinigami said, speaking at incredible speed that could only have been inspired by deathly terror.

His brave attempt failed miserably.

'Humour me,' the Octava said.

'Er,' Hanatarou began, clutching the bandages to his chest as if they had been a shield, 'first the burn needs to be stopped, hence the...the...'

'Cooling,' Szayel helpfully prompted.

'Then intravenous fluids and, and, hyperbaric oxygenation to maintain blood fluidity and oxygen levels, then...'

'Then?' the Octava smiled, and gathering the appearance of a predator that was ready to pounce.

'Then...' Hanatarou whimpered, 'uh...then the wounds need to be cleaned and debrided before they can be dressed!' he exploded, victoriously stumbling upon the solution.

'Partially correct,' Szayel permissively said. 'If you were dealing with electrical burns, scalding or contact burns, you would be correct. However,' the Octava continued, slipping his hand under the plastic sheet, and deftly extracting a pair of pincers out of his tight sleeve, 'I think...this is...at least partially...a chemical burn,' he said, carefully taking a sample of Ukitake's burned skin. 'What do you think, Stark?'

'Are you asking for my medical expertise?' Stark displeasedly muttered.

'Oh, if we were reduced to that, Captain Ukitake and his friend here would have to start making peace with the lack of a new pantheon,' Szayel grinned. 'No, no, I am more interested in what you know about these completely unrelated accidents. Minor details such as, offending agent, time and volume of exposure...'

'No idea,' Stark sincerely shrugged. 'Really, Szayel Aporro,' he nervously repeated, 'I have no idea, and giving me the evil eye will not change that...'

'Well, one might hope you remember what you ate,' the Octava bit, making Hanatarou let out a little frightened squeak.

Stark bit his lower lip, then looked down at Lilinette.

_We're not going to get this past him_, he thought, the realisation and the myriad threatening consequences it carried rushing through his head all at once. He unwillingly glanced over at Saitou, and it did not take long for Lilinette to guess his thoughts. She defiantly sustained his glance, then minutely inched closer to Ukitake's side.

'I have no idea, Szayel Aporro,' Stark tiredly answered.

The Octava blankly stared at him for a few silent seconds.

'You know, Stark,' Szayel Aporro said, in a toneless voice, 'I have to admit you amuse me.'

He carefully deposited the skin sample inside a vial, then capped it.

'I should thank you, I suppose,' the Octava distractedly continued. 'I think you are going to make this as interesting and challenging for me as possible.'

And that, Stark thought, starting to feel dizzy, was precisely the last thing he wanted to hear.

Whatever else the Octava might have been, however, he was monstrously patient, and incredibly good around his medical instruments; for the better part of the afternoon, Stark watched in near amazement as Szayel deftly and patiently removed all bits of burned clothing from the Shinigami's bodies, then proceeded to infuse, pH balance and clear their wounds, with sufficient speed and expertise to make anyone believe he had done nothing else in his entire existence. It was odd, Stark thought; he normally associated the Octava with anything else but alleviating pain. He'd known, of course, that medicine was one of Szayel's many skills, yet, somehow, when faced with the Octava's other talents, this one seemed completely unimaginable.

And yet...Szayel Aporro worked with determination and concentration that Stark personally deemed fit of a worthier cause, and, in truth, the Primera even had the odd sensation that the Octava had been driven by something well other than making a show of his skills.

Stark could not truly understand the readings of the many machines that had been placed by the side of the two beds, but he could sense the reiatsu of both Shinigami had stabilised completely. Under the protection of the oxygen tent, Ukitake's breath seemed easy and regular - even easier and more regular than usual, Stark noted with great displeasure.

He felt numb.

He had hoped that the Shinigami who had conducted the attempt would die, and it was only the weight of Lilinette's expectations that had prevented him from requesting it outright. The fact that Saitou would clearly survive created more problems than the Primera cared to fix - all those who had orchestrated the attempt would know that it had not been properly punished, and even though Stark could not truly find any fault with further attempts on Ukitake Jūshirō's life, he assumed that after this particular incident, the unrest would find a different form of manifestation.

Stark feared that far more.

Still, Lilinette looked over her shoulder and smiled, letting him know that the fact that they were honouring their debt towards Ukitake pleased her. He shook his head, but smiled and shrugged in his turn.

'So?' Stark asked, the warmth of her smile steeling him for what would follow once Szayel Aporro stood away from Ukitake's side.

The Octava smiled, and walked out into the corridor; Stark cast a final glance over his shoulder.

The door slammed shut.

'What kind of fool do you mistake me for, Primera?' Szayel Aporro asked, leaning his shoulders against the door, and crossing his arms over his chest.

'Hopefully, not a very loud one,' Stark responded, in as neutral a tone as possible.

'Oh, I should think that is a very justified hope,' the Octava said. 'When you walked in here, I merely assumed that 'two unrelated accidents' was simply Stark speak for 'I got a bit carried away while having breakfast'. I am fast beginning to understand that it may well be an euphemism for treason, and thus Stark speak for 'big fucking favour'. Why are you covering for them?' Szayel asked.

'Covering what?' Stark innocently attempted.

'Oh dear,' Szayel Aporro sighed. 'If these were your intentions, you should have sent Lilinette out to speak to me. She makes a far more credible innocent idiot - the look does not quite work on you. It's the goatee,' the Octava clarified, gracefully waving his fingers about his own chin. 'It makes you look like a villain out of a mute motion picture. Perhaps you could consider a shave,' he suggested, in a low, conspicuous whisper.

Stark rolled his eyes, but did not retaliate.

The Octava did not seem enraged, he noticed, feeling a mild sense of relief, but struggling to remind himself that a seemingly relaxed Szayel Aporro might have been far more dangerous than an openly enraged one.

'Alright, Szayel Aporro,' he surrendered, leaning heavily against the opposite side of the narrow corridor. 'What do you think you know?'

The Octava chuckled, lowering his chin to look at Stark over the frames of his glasses.

'Well, let us revise the facts. Captain Ukitake Jūshirō is suffering from first to third degree burns on thirty percent of his body surface,' Szayel began, slowly. 'Mostly on his back and shoulder blades,' he added. 'The depth of the these burns increases from the exterior towards the interior; all in all, I would say, they display a very lovely, textbook perfect model of thermal exposure.'

'However,' the Octava continued, 'Captain Ukitake is also suffering from a small proportion of deeper burns – actual damage to muscle tissue and tendons, skeletal structure exposed... Mostly on his chest, and shoulders; I would expect the two burn marks to overlap at their deepest point, but they do not. In fact, the two burn patterns hardly overlap at all, which seems to indicate that two completely different incidents occurred at the exact same time. In my humble knowledge, I would identify the incident which caused the first to third degree burns on his back as a chemical explosion which generated some tremendous amount of thermal energy.'

Stark braced himself.

'For lack of a better scientific term,' Szayel Aporro said, warm honey seeping into icy blue, 'I would identify the cause of the other burns as Lilinette _love bite_.'

The Primera pressed his fingers to his forehead.

'Moving on to our second guest for the day,' the Octava followed, 'the name of whom I would adore to learn - if only for personal success records reasons - he is exhibiting very few actual burn marks; however, about eighty percent of his body seems to have suffered what I would call...'

'Stark love bite?' the Primera ventured.

'I would not actually have called it love,' Szayel Aporro purred. 'On occasion, I like to imagine your sexuality is rather more..._primal_.'

'This isn't happening,' Stark muttered, shaking his head.

'Oh, but it is,' Szayel warmly smiled. 'It certainly is. And this is only the beginning. May I continue?'

'No, thank you – you have said quite enough,' the Primera sighed. 'Will we be getting to the shameless extortion moment any time soon, or can I take a nap and awaken in a couple of hours?'

'Extortion?' Szayel said, pressing the tips of his fingers to his chest. 'You offend me,' he sighed. 'Just because Ukitake Jūshirō almost died in an attempt on his life, and incidentally saved Lilinette, asking for nothing more than that you treacherously shelter his attacker in exchange, you assume I would extort you? Why, Primera, you mistake me for yourself.'

The insult had been earnest, Stark knew. What he found deeply confounding was the fact that he could sense the rest had been earnest as well; the Octava did not seem eager to making more of the situation, yet he radiated neither honesty nor any sense of generosity. Quite to the opposite effect, despite the theatrics, it felt as if Szayel Aporro himself had an alternate agenda.

Like Szayel Aporro himself had something to hide.

Stark looked up through narrowed eyes, trying to assess all of the things that Szayel Aporro could possibly have hoped to obtain from him, and finding none that could possibly have yielded high enough rewards to warrant the Octava's behaviour. He had nothing to give. He was far from Aizen's trust and had no interest in Aizen's true goals, whatever they were. The 13th had nothing of interest to Szayel Aporro. The 13th, Stark thought, didn't exist anymore.

He'd seen to that.

'What do you want, Szayel Aporro?' Stark said.

'An uninterrupted electricity supply, imaginative sex, and regular, small amounts of chemically engineered hallucinogens to keep me chipper and enlightened,' The Octava beamed.

'Spare me,' the Primera growled, finally managing to elicit the cold, cutting glance he'd been hoping for.

'Both of them will live, Stark,' Szayel Aporro dryly said, gracefully standing away from the wall. 'You know what that will imply.'

'He saved Lilinette's life,' Stark tiredly said.

'And, given that this is a special individual, that does not squarely lie in the territory of too little, too late for you?' Szayel inquired, in a voice that was unusually gentle.

'It does, for me,' the Primera shrugged, telling unpleasant truths by omission. 'Regardless,' he added, demonstrating his unwillingness to pursue the subject further. 'What has happened has happened. I do not want to have a debt towards this Shinigami,' Stark honestly answered. 'I want this incident to pass; he will have done me a favour, I will have done him a favour, the balance of the Universe will be restored…'

'Hm,' Szayel Aporro meaningfully said; Stark scratched the back of his neck, feeling increasingly surprised by the Octava's discretion. 'The Shinigami has few means of calling in his debts. I, on the other hand…'

_He's right_, Stark thought, with an inward sigh. _I am being very unwise. And he's at least fair to warn me. _

'Yes, I know I'm thinking with my stomach,' the Primera admitted, not knowing what to make of the other's strange prompt. 'We are not all perfect,' he somewhat stingily added.

Szayel Aporro visibly took the words for a compliment, and grinned in a frighteningly friendly manner.

'You know, Stark…' he purred, 'with burns like these, survival can only be a miracle, and while I am,' he grinned, 'quite the miracle worker, I think I could, on this one occasion, survive the smear on my reputation.'

All of Stark's senses sharpened in alarm.

'He can still die,' Szayel sweetly offered.

'Which one of them?' the Primera muttered.

'Either. Or - both, if you prefer?' the pink haired Arrancar shrugged, oddly gathering the air of a parent who was about to allow his child to stay up an hour past bedtime. 'Though,' he conceded, mostly to himself, 'Ukitake's demise would cause both of us to have to offer explanations we would rather not get into. I believe the other would cause much less aggravation.'

Stark hesitated visibly, making the other hide his light chuckles with his fist.

'No one would ever need know,' Szayel said, seductively looking at Stark over the top of his glasses; the Primera felt his concentration melt into the sudden urge of taking a long bath. Which was, he assumed, trying to compose himself, precisely what the Octava intended.

Szayel Aporro did not have a rebellious nature; not necessarily because loyalty had been amid his greater qualities, but because the lower profile he maintained, the less the establishment tended to interfere with whatever went on in his dungeons. Furthermore, the Primera had never been on good terms with him…

Well, Stark amusedly considered, that was a serious understatement.

For reasons of incompatible personality types, Stark and Szayel Aporro could barely stand being in each other's presence.

Szayel's selfless offer of doing away with the Shinigami that had attempted to kill Ukitake was not the kind of favour that Stark would have expected anyone, let alone the Octava to extend. At the very best, Aizen would be not be happy to be denied the good news that the Shinigami were actively turning against their former leadership. At the worst, he'd blame those who'd sheltered the attacker of heightening Ukitake's influence, at the very moment when the New Central's goal was to see it utterly stifled.

'Thank you, I will pass,' he said, dryly, attentively watching the other for signs of disappointment, yet, aside for an almost imperceptible twitch in the corner of his lips, there was nothing. 'So,' the Primera asked again, 'what do you want?'

It was Szayel Aporro's turn to measure the other Espada through dangerously narrowed eyes.

'Nothing,' he said. 'For the moment,' he sweetly conceded.

'Delayed gratification is not advisable with me. I have an awesomely bad memory, Szayel Aporro,' Stark tried, hoping that the Octava would at least hint at his price. 'In a couple of weeks…'

'Oh,' the pink haired scientist said, his small hand tellingly caressing the uniform pocket where he'd placed all the collected samples. 'I think I shall manage just fine.'

He turned to leave, but did not manage to take more than two steps; the door at the far end of the corridor opened, and a young, white haired Shinigami woman shyly peered inside. She looked frightened and rushed, but she did not come inside. Her cheeks were a bit rosy, denoting the fact that she had been running, and she'd been in such a hurry that she almost slammed the door shut before noticing that the one she'd been looking for had finally been found.

Stark moved protectively towards the door of the reserve, and steeled himself for a barrage of insults uttered in a deafening, squeaky tone – Szayel Aporro amazed yet again.

'Yes, Isane?' the Octava said, suddenly sounding attentive, and, Stark noticed, even polite.

'Captain Unohana…' the girl began, only noticing Stark after the words had been uttered, and recoiling more than the situation should have warranted. 'Unohana-san has sent me to look for you. She sends her apologies, and…and says she would not have disturbed you, it is just that we…'

'Has anything occurred?' Szayel asked, mercifully heading towards the young woman and preventing her from coming any closer to the door.

'We have a…situation,' Isane said, clearly not knowing how freely she could speak in the Primera's presence. 'Please, come with me.'

'What kind of situation?' Stark lazily asked, signaling that he did not wish for Szayel Aporro to go too far from Ukitake's side.

Isane hesitated again, and the Primera's senses cried in alarm long before the young woman found the resolve to answer.

'There has been an attempt on Ichimaru Gin's life,' she said, swallowing dry and finally finding her resolve. 'He is unharmed – the attackers did not make it to his side - yet there are many casualties. None lethal, but for the attackers themselves…Some are in quite serious condition, and while we could handle that, though we are stretched…'

'Ulquiorra is on the premises,' Stark said, dryly.

He'd sensed the Cuarta's presence just a fraction of a second before Szayel Aporro had, and instantly let his reiatsu loose, one overpowering flavor of energy cancelling the noise of all the others. Lilinette, who had probably briefly sensed Ulquiorra before Stark's reiatsu had flared, peered into the corridor in her turn.

_This was the last thing I needed now_, Stark thought; judging by the look on Szayel's features, which had suddenly become blank and lost all traces of theatrical expression, his feelings were deeply shared.

'Go see him,' Lilinette briefly uttered, surprisingly remaining the calmest of them all.

* * *

Up next - Szayel puts two and two together. That's never a good sign.


	10. Thursday 1

Good evening all, and thanks for watching :) Sorry for the long delay in following up, we experienced a nasty two week posting glitch.

Thus, without further adue...Thursday, part 1 - Where Szayel is being...gentlemanly?

(I worry so...)

* * *

_Thursday, 4th of July_

_Occupation Month 6_

_3.03 am_

She pressed the back of her fingers to her lips, and let out a shaky breath; it was the best she could do to keep the tears from starting to flow. Her hands felt frozen and numb, as if she'd kept them in a bucket of icy water, and her heart felt pretty much the same. She even wondered how it was still beating.

She certainly did not feel like it was.

So much suffering, Unohana thought, completely hiding her face in her hands. So much loss…

And for what purpose? She'd bitterly wondered. What had been achieved?

Ichimaru Gin was unharmed; the explosions had not touched a single hair on his head. Out of three different charges…Not a single one had even come close.

What the explosions had done, however, was injure fifty seven others, only six of whom, Unohana reminded herself, had been part of Gin's guard contingent. The rest of the victims had been no more than unfortunate passersby, people who'd picked an accursed hour on an accursed day to go grocery shopping, or simply take a stroll through the marketplace…

Had they thought of this? She wondered, feeling that her sorrow was mercifully beginning to morph into rage. Had they considered who else they would harm, when they had decided on the time and the place of the attempt? Had they not thought of all those who would be caught in between…

Had _she_ thought of them?

Unohana shivered, knowing all too well that she hadn't – not until the moment when she'd walked into the main reception room of her division to find countless bodies lying on beds and hastily stretched out mattresses, not until she'd smelled sulfur and burned flesh, not until she'd stood over many of them and not been able to recognize them, not because she had not seen them before, but because, in the end, an odd protective mechanism in her mind had caused them all to look _exactly_ like each other…

_Question: What are one's chances of being burned alive while shopping for onions?_

_Answer: As big as anybody else's. We are all exactly alike._

She leaned her elbows on the table before her, hiding her face in her hands, and wondering what the others, the nameless and faceless people outside of Sereitei's walls were thinking, at that very moment. Were they thinking of stopping…this, whatever _this_ was - not resistance, Unohana thought, but merely pitiful unrest, that did no more than demonstrate its utter lack of bite each and every time that it surfaced? Were they thinking of what options would be left, if they did stop?

Sereitei was all but impenetrable and more trapped within itself than it had ever been before; it could do nothing for itself, and nothing for Rukongai. Without the explosives, which at least allowed passage to those outside the walls, the world would lie still, simply awaiting to be devoured; time would pass and the plague of white masks would quietly spread, at first over the Sereitei, but then over Rukongai and then, Unohana thought, into a human world that was unaware its heavens were emptier than ever before…

They could not stop trying.

They needed to stop failing. _She_ needed to stop failing.

Though her hands were still not under her control, she pulled the vial rack she had been poring over close, and pleadingly looked at it, as if the chemicals could understand their own importance and stop misbehaving. She could not focus, but she could not look away either, and though her stomach turned violently, she discovered that, at that very instant, she missed Mayuri Kurosuchi as if the man had been her lover.

She swallowed dry, closed her eyes and counted to ten, forcing artificial focus. She would keep trying, she told herself, though the rebellious voices in the back of her mind already rose to tell her that she would never succeed. That she already knew she would fail again, and that perhaps this time, her failure would not only harm, but also kill innocents.

Still, her hands carried her through the motions of their own volition; the chemicals mingled exactly as they should have. She did not even take precautions – once the colour of the substance in the vial changed, she simply placed it back on the wrack, and once more counted to ten. The miniature explosion occurred in perfect timing, releasing the perfect amount of heat. The glass did not shutter, and her fingers were not even blistered.

_I don't understand, _her mind screamed.

Everything was undeniably, defiantly perfect – except, fifty seven people lying in the room just above hers told her that it was _not._ Something was wrong, and far from being able to replicate it and adjust, she could not even find what it was…

'Re-chan.'

She turned and stood at the speed of lighting, her body faster than her mind, realizing that this time, _he_ could not possibly have missed it, and that he did not need to see the vials behind her to understand what she was doing, what she'd been doing from the very beginning.

'Szayel Aporro,' she tried to speak up, but only managed to whisper.

He did not approach, and the heavily pressurized door hissed closed mere inches behind his back.

'There is nothing that guarantees that I shall break a security code more than trying to keep it secret,' he said, in a deceivingly calm voice. 'Some people count sheep, I break 128 bit encryptions before going to sleep.'

The door locked itself, several inconspicuous beeps assuring that all the outer world protection systems had fallen back in place automatically. To what use, Unohana thought, feeling her knees had begun to tremble. The danger was already inside.

'But,' he continued, his voice turning chillingly cheerful as he advanced with his hands clenched behind his back, 'I did not come over to tell you that. That you already knew, and perhaps just disregarded in the flurry of your other…preoccupations. No, Re-chan, I came over to share other, more entertaining facts that you might have missed during the excitement of the day.'

She drew back, realizing that she was trapped against the bench she'd been sitting on, which was bolted onto the floor, only when its cold edges bit into the back of her knees.

'It would seem like our Rukongai friends have gained a mild hint at organization,' Szayel Aporro beamed, noticing that she was terrified and stopping a few feet away.

'What do you mean?' she asked; the tremor in her voice was so strong that the words could barely be made out.

'Indeed,' Szayel merrily chirped. 'At roughly the same time that they attempted to blow up Ichimaru Gin, they staged an attempt on one of your fellow captains…'

'Who…' Unohana managed, leaning back on the table and almost knocking the vial rack over in her desperate quest for balance.

'Ukitake Jūshirō of the 13th,' the Arrancar shrugged, seemingly not paying attention to the fact that her face had lost all trace of colour and that she'd stopped breathing altogether. 'And he was not as lucky as our friend, Ichimaru. Oh, Re-chan,' he continued, with growing, childish excitement, 'you should have seen _this –_ it was fabulous!' the Octava exclaimed, with a little clap, even as Unohana's body grew limp and fell back to the bench. 'A gorgeous symphony of damage: sufficient kinetic energy to shatter bone, and sufficient thermal energy to completely clear flesh. Not only that, but the chemical damage was so well placed that the various mingled parts were still deliciously sizzling when we found them…'

She let out a whimper and bent over, hiding her face in her hands. The insane mask of childish excitement vanished, as did the mad light in his eyes.

'Just kidding,' Szayel Aporro said, his golden stare suddenly dull and cold.

Unohana looked up, but did not manage to speak, as if the vortex of feelings and emotions had rendered her a prisoner – she did not know whether she was frozen in terror or relief. She merely sensed that heavy, cold lead had replaced the blood in her entire body, and she sensed the tears that had begun to flow as if they had been coursing on someone else's face. The same sensation, she oddly thought, as water running over a latex glove.

'He's alive,' Szayel Aporro said, gently. 'Your concoction failed _again._'

He approached, and stood over her for a second, making her feel precisely as what she was. A helpless insect caught in a spider's web.

'Move over,' the Octava said.

She let out a sharp breath, that had sounded exactly like a reaction to sudden and poignant physical pain. The Arrancar took a deep breath in his turn, then smiled in a way she could not recognize – something awkwardly mechanic, shy and unpracticed, an expression that made him look unbearably young.

'Let's have a look at this,' he whispered, delicately placing his ungloved hand on her shoulder, but decisively pushing her to the side. Unohana obeyed mechanically, allowing him to insinuate his frail figure between the bench and the work table. She turned to face the vial rack in her turn, and looked at it in open wonder, as if she had seen it for the first time.

'This had me stumped for a long time too,' he distractedly began, lifting one of the vials and narrowing his eyes to focus on its consistence. 'Did you mean for the attacks to actually be suicide attempts?' Szayel asked, his attention fixed on something well other than the heart rending meaning of his words.

'Gods, no,' Unohana whispered.

'I thought not,' he nodded, then looked up at her with a little grin.

_He's not thinking of anything…_she suddenly realized, not knowing whether to feel happy or even more terrified. _He exists in a consequence free glass bubble, where nothing but processes and technical solutions has even the most minor bearing. He's not thinking of anything but how to fix this._

'The problem we have here,' Szayel softly began, his hands replicating her earlier motions as if he'd done them a thousand times as well, 'is that this _works._'

The miniature explosion occurred again.

Ten seconds reaction time, Unohana dully thought. Ten seconds, not one more, not one less; sufficient time for someone to target, fling the vial and shadow step away to safety. That was what she'd meant to do. Ten seconds…

'Perfect,' she whispered, and he conceded with a small shrug.

'Perfect,' Szayel Aporro repeated. 'But why is it perfect, Re-chan?'

'I don't know,' she breathed. 'I don't know, Szayel Aporro,' she repeated, allowing the frustration she felt to simply burst out. 'I have tried it a million times, I promise, I've varied the concentrations, the proportions, everything, it simply always works, and I have no idea why…it's perfect, but at the same time, it clearly…'

She swallowed dry, struggling to continue.

'It clearly is _not_. I don't understand what I am doing wrong, or what they are doing wrong… I have attempted to replicate the varying reaction times, but every time that I do it, it is simply perfect in all aspects. I don't understand…'

'It's alright,' he soothingly said. 'You are approaching the problem correctly. Which is good,' he suddenly reflected, 'since otherwise I would become very, very annoyed with you. I really hate it when bright people approach problems in an inept way.'

She nodded, feeling rather sheepish but nonetheless frighteningly at ease.

'Relax for a moment,' Szayel Aporro prompted, swiftly moving the vial rack out of her reach. 'You should never try to conduct chemistry experiments in an excitable state,' he seriously scolded, eliciting a pained smile at the sharp irony of the fact that the words had been uttered by one who seemed to be in a permanent state of excitation.

_But he only looks like that_, Unohana thought. _He never is._

'You are approaching the problem correctly,' he kindly repeated. 'You said that you have separated it into components, and that you have altered each individually to see what is causing the variance in the reaction time.'

'Yes,' Unohana nodded.

'The method is correct, but you've failed to see one of the components.' Szayel followed, making her frown and drawing her attention to the vial rack. 'No,' he corrected himself, '_I_ am using unhelpful vocabulary. It is not a component, it is rather – a factor, and the reason why you have not found it is because you are only looking at the chemicals.'

She shook her head in incomprehension.

'The reason why this is perfect, Re-chan,' Szayel continued, allowing her to reach for the rack, 'is because conditions are perfect.'

'What?' Unohana sharply asked, looking at the Arrancar as if he'd suddenly transported by her side from a parallel universe.

'Yes,' he shrugged. 'This room has controlled temperature. It is always at 27 degrees Celsius, with variances of no more than a tenth of a degree. Your components are therefore always at that temperature…may I?' Szayel asked, reaching for the vials. She nodded in fascination. 'Please step back,' the Arrancar smiled, picking up one of the component vials and beginning to rapidly rub it between his hands. 'This,' he grinned, keeping his motions to a fast but steady rhythm, 'might be slightly unpredictable.'

It was – when, but a few seconds later, he added the two components together, the reaction occurred in a _perfectly_ wrong way. The chemicals mingled, shifting to a color that Unohana had never seen before, and both retreated with just a split second to spare before the vial exploded into a fine cloud of cutting shards.

'Hee,' Szayel chuckled. 'For all of the things that I've done, causing laboratory explosions never, ever loses its charm!'

As if his enthusiasm had been contagious, Unohana felt her lips shaping into a pained smile.

'You're such a child,' she thought and whispered at the same time. Szayel Aporro chuckled again, but his amusement soon faded. She could all but see the insidious tentacles of consequence stretching about his glass bubble, and beginning to crush it; somehow, the mental image made her cringe, just like the sound of his hydraulic syringes.

'The reason why your people are blowing themselves up, Re-chan,' he softly said, 'is because they are carrying the components close to their bodies, perhaps under their kimonos. During the journey, they adjust to body temperature – 36.5 degrees Celsius, almost ten degrees higher than the test condition temperature. This causes everything to catalyse much faster; reaction time is decreased…'

'And it blows up in their hands,' she whispered.

He contented himself on a stern nod.

'Yes,' he gently said, at length. She looked away, yet again beginning to shiver. 'Don't be too harsh on yourself, Re-chan. This also only occurred to me today, and to be thoroughly fair, I was not artificially constrained to laboratory test conditions. It was the Ukitake incident…'

'Is he alright?' Unohana asked, biting her lower lip.

'He is alive, and will be alright,' Szayel answered. 'But his attacker was nervous, and, because of this, he came very close to succeeding.'

'How so?' she inquired, slowly shaking her head.

'He fidgeted,' the Octava shrugged. 'He must have hesitated whether to go through with it or not – so, even though he probably carried the components just like the rest of them, he must have taken them out and held them at outside temperature for quite a while, thus slowing down the catalyst.'

_Yes_, she distantly thought. Deciding to murder a man one once loved must have taken some time…

Finding that she had nothing to add, she tiredly strolled back to the worktable and sat down, to blankly stare into a distant corner of the room.

_I guess that concludes the lesson,_ she thought. _I guess that concludes everything._

She felt calm, and her hands had finally stopped shaking; the same deceitful defense mechanism that had shielded her heart when she'd first gazed upon a room filled with burned bodies fell in place, drowning all her senses into a deep, light feeling of peace.

'I am quite cross with you, Re-chan,' the Octava said.

Unohana nodded in acceptance; he had every right to.

'When did you realise…' she began, lifting her chin and allowing her glance to complete the question.

'A few hours after you started,' Szayel Aporro answered. 'The internal sensors detected the thermal energies released by the explosions. You should have put them offline. But then, I…'

'…you would immediately have known I am hiding something,' she said. 'When will they come…' she began, then, for a fleeting moment, lost her voice. 'When will they come for my…'

Her courage faded yet again, and she pressed her eyelids together.

'Ulquiorra was here today,' she continued, keeping her eyes closed. 'I assume _they_ will be here in the morning.'

'I think I might be in love with you,' Szayel Aporro said, dryly, after a long minute of painful silence.

She looked up, the utter disbelief at having heard the words shattering to the shock of the look on his features – which not only cast no doubt over the honesty of the pronouncement, but also on its sheer lack of scientific relevance.

'I am experiencing a vast array of unpleasant symptoms,' he added, in an oddly reproachful tone, as if attempting to tell her she had willingly infected him with a particularly vicious strand of the flu; the woman gently shook her head, feeling trapped amid concern, amusement, and disbelief.

'I find this terribly distracting, and I don't like being distracted,' he continued, with a childishly rebellious frown, 'I specifically hate being distracted when I am on a project. As such, _they_ will not be coming – I will not allow a decimation to break the focus of this Division, your focus, and more pointedly, _my_ focus on the task at hand.'

'But how can you keep this hidden?' she asked, feeling her very heartbeat had frozen and slowed. 'Surely, Ulquiorra will see the connection between the attempt on Ichimaru and the one on Jūshirō, and the New Central will ask you to investigate the connection. You will not lie to Aizen, for…'

'I will do anything it takes to complete the trans-gene crossing,' Szayel Aporro stated, with terrifying detachment. 'But no, I will not lie to Aizen-sama for you, should that situation ever arise. It will not, or not in a future near enough to endanger my project. As for Ulquiorra, he can see no connection because the Ukitake incident has not been brought to his attention – the only people who have knowledge of it are you, me, Hanatarou, and a fourth party that is equally interested in keeping it quiet.'

'Is it someone you trust?' Unohana whispered.

'No,' he replied. 'But it is someone who desperately needs to trust me.'

She nodded, yet again accepting his words for true, and feeling utterly crushed by all that had passed, by his words, by the thin, faded whimpers of the energies in the room above, by his actions…then, for a moment, chose to forget about the men who stood above them both, allowed herself to slip free of all consequences, and drift into his world.

'I have abused your trust,' Unohana said, gently. She could not bring herself to utter that she was sorry; he did not seem to want her to, and she did not wish to lie.

'In a sense,' Szayel responded, still standing at an awkwardly correct, pointed distance, as if he'd been afraid of her physical proximity. 'I never asked you about it, thus, you never lied.'

'I faked…' she began, feeling so insanely relieved that she actually chuckled.

'The April spectrograph reports, yes, yes,' the Arrancar laughed in his turn. 'And you even had enough of a sense of humour to make me syntethise a molecular compound that not only employed every piece of laboratory equipment in this room, but actually remained stable for a couple of hours before miraculously losing integrity. I repeated that particular experiment six times, I'll have you know.'

'I know,' she said, this time truly laughing at loud. 'I just somehow imagined you would have _fun.'_

'You were quite right, I did,' he simply shrugged.

'You could ask anything of me now,' Unohana suddenly said, insisting to meet his glance and keep her eyes locked to his.

Szayel Aporro nodded, then took a step back as she rose to her feet.

'I probably will, very soon,' he said, withdrawing yet another step – something she could not quite place stirred in the depths of his eyes, strangely assuring her that they were not speaking of the same thing.

Unohana remained still, understanding that if she continued to approach, he would retreat to the ends of the earth. She felt warmth and sorrow at the same time, and with the same bewildering intensity.

_I truly like this man,_ she thought, the self admission smoothly coming into shape and causing her no discomfort within the confines of the glass bubble.

She did not doubt his brief declaration; in truth, she realized, berating herself, she should have sensed it far sooner, and she probably would have, had she not been distracted by so many other things – and though she knew all too well that she should have felt either disgusted, threatened or concerned, she merely felt warmly flattered. In fact, Unohana thought, giving him a shy smile, she felt slightly insulted at the fact that he was not even expecting her to respond to the words, let alone think her _capable_ of taking his feelings into consideration or even reciprocating to some extent…if not with the same feelings, at least with the affection that she clearly felt at that very instant.

'When did you realize that you felt this way, Szayel Aporro?' she kindly inquired.

'An hour after you fitted me with the reiatsu suppressing device and allowed me out of seclusion.' He dryly responded, giving her the feeling that he was about to quote the exact time in the day. 'You asked me for information on a digestive system misbalance – a bacterial infection, in fact, and you acted upon the information without…'

'…questioning,' Unohana approved, smiling at the memory. 'I trusted you…'

'You trusted my expertise,' the Octava nodded; she unconsciously took a step forward, only realising that she had done it when he hastily drew away once more, not in fear of the Shinigami, but in fear of himself. 'Retsu,' he said, defensively lifting his palms. 'You misunderstand. I do not feel that I care for you, I _know_ I do,' Szayel Aporro added, raising two fingers to indicate his temple, 'My thoughts stray at random times, and I focus more on your approval and circumstances than I believe is either correct or necessary, in a manner that I am sure you would find neither flattering nor reassuring.'

'I am not in denial, Retsu,' the Octava, said. 'I know you would like to think that, or that there must be some sort of confidence disorder lurking in the depth – I have studied your pathology as you have mine, I am sure, and I understand this is the conclusion you will inevitably draw. It is the wrong conclusion nonetheless; you are simply projecting and assigning me moral qualities I assure you, I do not possess. I am not being generous, I am merely being practical.'

'I will truly not let anything get in the way of this project,' he continued, noticing her glance had grown uncertain. 'and I will require far more of your assistance than until now. Please attempt to focus on the task at hand and cut all distractions to a minimum.'

'Will you not ask me to stop?' she asked.

'No,' he said. 'It is in my nature to recognize and honour single minded, passionate pursuits; it is, after all what I personally live by. I could, indeed, order you to stop, but you would not, and I do not want to be focusing on spotting deceitful behavior. It would be a waste of my time, as well as yours.'

The Octava once more clenched his hands behind his back.

'Besides, it should be an interesting contest,' he said, to no one in particular. Unohana frowned.

'Contest?' she echoed.

'Indeed,' Szayel Aporro responded. 'You will have to progress more before I will deem it necessary to find a countermeasure to your formula, but when the time comes, I shall certainly spare no effort in doing so. That too should be…_fun_.' He distantly added.

'Do you not fear that Aizen…' Unohana began to question.

'The process of creating a natural means of creating hybrids is far more important to Aizen-sama than the efforts of your resistance is,' the Arrancar answered. 'He cannot succeed at it without me – plus, the task of investigating and dealing with these attacks is not mine. It is within the remit of the Omitskido, and Ulquiorra Schiffer has yet to request my assistance in anything more than telling him whether these compounds were created by Shiba Kukkaku.'

The woman unwillingly sighed. 'Unhelpfully literal,' she guessed, with a minute shrug. He simply shrugged in return, giving her another painfully awkward smile.

'You know what the consequences of being caught will be,' Szayel Aporro said, 'and you should not think yourself under my protection. I will simply ignore your extra curricular activities, and maintain plausible deniability.'

She slowly nodded.

'Please retire, Re-chan,' he concluded, in a voice that suddenly sounded tired. 'You can resume your adjustments to the catalyst in the morning.'

Despite his words, the feeling of warmth would not subdue, and though she shuffled towards the door, Unohana felt as if she'd left her heart behind. She looked over her shoulder as the door drew aside, meeting his oddly dreamy glance.

'Thank you,' she said, softly. 'For everything you've said and done tonight.'

Ice swiftly grew in his eyes.

'Did I say something wrong?' she sincerely asked. 'If…'

'The reason why I sleep with Kaname Tousen,' Szayel Aporro interrupted, suddenly sounding furious, 'is because I find guilt far more arousing than gratitude.'

Unohana swallowed dry.

'Goodnight, Re-chan,' he repeated. She nodded, and withdrew.

The door slid shut behind her, and, despite the noise of the sealing hydraulics, she could still distinguish the little characteristic hiss of one of his syringes. For some reason, Unohana thought, it was even more painful tonight.

* * *

Up Next - We are missing one of the riders of the apocalipse...could it be Grimmjow, perchance?


	11. Thursday 2

Aah, finally a sunny day in London. One might come to think that it is an oximorom, yet, here we go!

Thank all for reading and commenting - hope y'all were missing Grimmjow as much as I was.

Thursday - Part 2: Where we speak of...plants? o.o

* * *

'Whaddaya think they're talkin' about, in there?' Lilinette fidgeted. 'Ha?'

'How the fuck should I know?' Grimmjow shrugged.

He scratched his head, and dreamily looked up at the decorated gate of the Captain's Assembly Hall.

'Sure glad I ain't in there, tho', they been at it a long time.' The Sexta said, leaning heavily on one of the gate's pillars. 'Gotta wonder how nobody's even come out to take a leak…I'm fucking bored,' he sighed.

Lilinette looked at him, disapprovingly narrowing her eye.

'Yeh, well, you were the one who didn't wanna play with the big boys no more,' she said.

'Dude,' Grimmjow protested, cutting the line of conversation short.

He'd justified and re-justified himself, to all of them, a million times. He didn't want to start all over again – besides, Grimmjow thought, Lilinette should have known better than anyone else he's found it hard to even sit through Aizen's celebrated tea parties in Las Noches. There was no way in this world or the next that Grimmjow would set himself up for _more of that_ _shit_, or get stuck looking after Shinigami ass. He'd staunchly and loudly refused any shadow officer assignment, and Gin's last attempt at making Grimmjow take over the 3rd, after Kira's desertion had resulted in something that was dangerously close to a fistfight.

She knew all of that, the Sexta thought. And under normal circumstances, she would not have started it up.

'What's gotten into you?' he asked, looking at the girl through the corner of his eyes. 'Ya've been acting like red fire ants crawled up your…'

'Watch it!' she protested, shaking her tiny fist at him.

'Hey, if ya think it, I don't gotta say it,' he grinned.

Lilinette stuck her tongue out at him.

'What, you wanna show me the only part of ya that keeps growin'?'Grimmjow laughed; the quip would normally have sent her into a cursing spree that would have made him feel no small amount of paternal pride. Now, she merely smirked. 'What's with ya, kiddo?' he asked, frowning.

'Nothing,' she sighed, sitting down on the steps, crossing her legs and looking up at the sky. 'I just really wanna know what they're doing in there, is all.'

'What's the big deal?' he asked, sitting by her side. 'Stark's gonna come out and tell you everything anyway.'

'Yeah, but that's gonna be _post scriptum_…_factum_? whatever the fuck Stark says. In any way, after stuff already happened.'

'I hear Gin is still looking for a head over of the 3rd if you wanna get a flat butt from all the sitting – ah, sorry, decision making - an' kicking puppies floats your boat,' Grimmjow shrugged. 'I'm personally happy not to be rubbing shoulders with Ulquiorra no more.'

'So…why you hangin' round here for?'

'I'm still an Espada, eh…I got called,' Grimmjow shrugged. 'Fuck knows what for, but…I'm bored,' he muttered, leaning the unmasked part of his face on his palm. 'Wish Gin had at least kicked it…'

'Ya retarded?' Lilinette frowned, slapping him over the shoulder.

'Wha'?' he scowled, in his turn. 'Then maybe they'd let me go out an' start looking for Kurosaki an' whoever the hell he's hanging with these days. Tho',' he added, with a tone that was filled with melancholy, 'who knows how soft _he'_s grown. I was expecting he'd fucking do something by now, him, and those other masked buddies of his ain't no better.' Grimmjow muttered, shaking his head in disappointment.

'Soul Society got locked down tight,' Lilinette shrugged. 'Urahara's tunnels or whatever the hell they were were sealed when we crossed over. There hasn't been any movement…'

'Well, he found a way in before,' the Sexta sighed in his turn. 'Meh. I was sorta hoping some stuff would happen, but…It's like he's vanished, gone under, an' doin' this to spite me…'

'Maybe he's dead,' she said, in a dreamy voice that made him frown and look at her through the corner of his eyes. 'Maybe they're all dead. Isn't that what winning is supposed to mean? That we killed them all?' she softly repeated, looking into the distance.

'What's with ya?' Grimmjow asked. 'You're restless an' gloomy…Stark back with Halibel?'

'Why, you heard something?' Lilinette suddenly perked.

'No,' he scowled. 'But that's the only time you act all…'

He desperately waved his hands, as if he'd been trying to catch a wasp.

'…hormonal,' the Sexta concluded.

Lilinette scratched the back of her head, not dignifying his provocation with a response.

'I just wish I'd know what's going on in there,' she whispered. ''s all.'

The Sexta questioningly gazed at her for a few seconds longer, then leaned his elbows on his knees and looked at the ground.

'So,' he began. 'How 'bout that head position at the 3rd, eh?'

Lilinette scoffed.

'That'd be the day.'

She lifted her chin, bathing her face in the warm sunlight, closing her eye and slowly letting her mind drift away.

'Love the sun here,' she said, at length, making him chuckle at the topic switch. 'An' fresh apricots. Trees I like a lot, too; can climb a whole lot of them. Fences to jump over…What do ya like?'

'Hot springs.' Grimmjow picked up. 'Hot women in hot water.'

'Stark playing the piano at night.' She whispered.

The Sexta incredulously looked at her, preparing to express his disbelief in the most colorful way possible, but the look on her features stopped the words in his throat – not because he did not find the notion of Stark playing any musical instrument amusing, but because he realized she would not have heard him.

Lilinette sat next to him, but her mind was millions of miles away from her body.

'Yeah,' he said, renouncing his quip. 'It's all good.'

'He's happy,' Lilinette whispered. 'When he plays the piano at night, he's happy.'

Grimmjow did not like sadness. In fact, it did not even figure in his emotional dictionary, which ranged from rage to violent…well, he supposed, rage. There were, of course, lust, amusement, frustration…which, in the end, if one was to be fair, still boiled down to rage. Sadness was nowhere in the range of feelings that he cared to acknowledge, in anyone that he did not personally think a sissy. And he did not think Lilinette was one.

He recognized sadness in her voice anyway, and wished he could instinctively hate it or bring himself to mock it.

Well, Grimmjow reckoned, gritting his teeth, he could at least hate that he didn't hate it.

'Ya been drinking?' he muttered, expecting her to at least grin. 'You're not even hormonal, you're, like…Apache when she drinks too much an' she says she wants to have babies. Which is, like, seriously fucking hormonal.'

'You're seriously retarded,' she muttered in her turn. 'You can't have babies, you're…'

'Not insane enough to have babies with Apache.' Grimmjow ended, swiftly. 'Also,' he added, 'we're dead.'

'That don't…freaking _doesn't_ stop the Shinigami.' Lilinette said. 'They have children.'

'Dude, you ain't been drinking, you fell on your head,' he said, smacking her over the the back of the mask. 'The fuck is with you today?'

'I dunno,' Lilinette sighed. 'I'm real glad we're here, ya know?'

'Yup,' he nodded.

'Not sure 'bout happy, tho'', she continued, this time looking him straight in the eyes and clearly expecting an answer. 'Or at least, not today.' Lilinette added, looking wistfully over her shoulder at the stubbornly closed door of the Assembly Hall. 'Ya happy?'

'If you count being drunk most of the time as happy, then yeh,' Grimmjow shrugged. 'I'm sorta like that fellow over at the 8th – get drunk, nurse a hangover, piss off Barragan, screw the lieutenant and get drunk again, all in a day's work. Keeps one busy 'till the novelty wears off.'

He sighed and surrendered.

'Novelty's wearing off,' he said, dryly. 'I am seriously fucking bored. An' I feel a little bit de-clawed,' he grinned.

'Well, you were the one who didn't wanna…'

'Play with the big boys no more,' Grimmjow snarled. 'Yeh, you already said that. But none of them in that room got their claws still on, Lili, an' even if they did, they got no scratching post. I mean, look at fucking Barragan – sure, he got lucky with some Shinigami who still got their pair on 'em over at the 6th and the 8th, but even that only means that he gets to watch his boys smash some insects into the ground every now an' then.'

'Betcha he's havin' lots of fun,' Lilinette disapprovingly smirked.

'Yeh, but not as fun as smashing the _real_ Shinigami, not a bunch of…'

'Puppies,' she sighed.

'Ain't no lions here to fight,' Grimmjow mumbled. 'Aizen rounded 'em up, put 'em in a cage, an' pokes them with a stick from time to time, but he ain't never letting them out to fight again. Not even with the big boys, so…Rather be bored where I can take a leak without excusing myself,' he conclusively shrugged. 'I've never gone so long without a proper fight.' Grimmjow sighed, in such honest pain that Lilinette had finally chuckled.

'What, ya want me to bring it?' she laughed.

'Ya got something to bring?' he shot back, once more feeling on secure territory. The mood lasted too little, and her gaze grew distant once more.

'You know, Grimm,' she began, 'I ain't bored.'

'Good on ya,' he shrugged.

'But sometimes – like, right now – I don't know if I like this puppy kicking thing less when they don't fight back, just lay down and get squished, or when they actually try to fight back and get pitifully squished anyway.'

'Suppose it shouldn't matter if it's us doin' the squishing,' Grimmjow said.

She nodded, but the gesture meant little else than that she heard him.

'An' for how long we gonna keep doing that?' Lilinette asked.

'Prolly till we run out of puppies,' he dryly responded. 'Which ain't gonna keep for long, now that they've started squishing themselves, too.'

This time, her nod actually signified approval.

'Stark's really happy when he plays the piano at night,' she whispered.

To Grimmjow, the words made no sense at all.

* * *

'Hey,' the girl said, standing in the garden doorway.

'Hello,' Ukitake responded, managing to lift himself on his elbow and offering her a small smile.

'Szayel Aporro let ya out already?' she asked, looking him over with attention that the Shinigami found mildly embarrassing, given the fact that he'd been lingering under the covers with almost no clothes on.

'I'm feeling fine,' Ukitake declared, with practiced, sweeping and utterly fake confidence.

In fact, he was feeling anything but, yet, in all fairness, his burn wounds had truly been cured, disappearing as if they had never been. At another time, Ukitake distantly thought, he might have seriously queried the means of his rapid recovery – it was clear that the steady influx of _neutral_ reiatsu that he'd been receiving through the night would not have been considered orthodox at the 4th just a few months before. It probably would have been outright forbidden.

Firstly, _neutral_ reiatsu should not have existed, and though Ukitake could have fooled himself into thinking that the energies he'd been subjected to were of the same quality as Soul Society's rich environmental reishi, he'd felt that this was much different. Unlike all the particles which naturally filled Soul Society's air, and which could at best be described as latent, the reiatsu that he'd been _fed_ through the night was undeniably alive, or at least active. The feeling he'd been left with was that a myriad of ants had swept over his body, seeking out his wounds then transforming into his own reiatsu to rapidly heal them, and, to his astonishment, he'd found that his body had been more than happy to seamlessly assimilate them.

Just like a Hollow body would have.

'Szayel Aporro Granz is very impressive,' he said.

'Yea, when he's not downright insane.' Lilinette shrugged. 'I promise ya, he's more insane than impressive most of the time. Think he should've kept you under them tents for a bit longer,' she added, still looking at him with unpleasant attention.

'I think he would have preferred that too,' Ukitake admitted, 'but I think he was under some additional supervisory strain. It is better this way – I really am feeling fine, and he couldn't have kept us at the 4th any longer.'

A shadow danced in her eye, letting him know that she'd known what he was speaking of.

'Yeah,' Lilinette said, looking away. 'Ulquiorra was walkin' in an' out like he bleeding owns the place. Without Stark to flap his wings and cover for ya…'

He nodded.

'Ulquiorra would have sensed me soon enough.' Ukitake said. 'If he had, Saitou would probably be dead, and his family would have been killed before him.'

He paused for a moment, trying to think of nothing else than the present moment.

'Thank you, Lilinette,' he said. 'Stark could not have been happy doing me any favours.'

'Is nuthin',' she laughed, scratching the back of her head. 'Sorry for biting ya,' she off-handedly added. 'Didn't mean to.'

'That's OK, only hurt a little,' he said, choosing to lie by omission. 'And I am really happy that you were alright,' Ukitake added, telling the truth.

'I know,' Lilinette answered. 'I'm really happy you are alright too. You don't think that's kinda weird?' she questioned.

He shrugged.

'Maybe it is, but it doesn't feel like it. You know, Lilinette,' he suddenly laughed, 'there is something deeply unnerving about you when you stare like that.'

'Never get tired of ogling at naked men,' she dryly said, then laughed out loud as he violently blushed.

'Not naked,' Ukitake protested, faintly.

'Fo' sure,' she understandingly nodded. 'Ain't gonna be anything I ain't seen before, though.' she pushed. 'You weren't wearin' much yesterday – Szayel Aporro doesn't get tired of ogling at naked men either.'

His cheeks turned crimson, and she bent over laughing.

'You're funny,' Lilinette managed, between chuckles.

'And you are quite mean,' he retorted, frowning a little and only succeeding in amusing her further.

'That's me, mean Lilinette!' she laughed, flexing her arms. 'I brought you something.' She said. For a moment, the light that burst in from behind her seemed a bit warmer. 'If ya think ya can cover your shame an' come out into the garden for a mo'.'

Ukitake hesitated, feeling torn between the lingering weakness in his body and the desire of not disappointing her; the latter was more powerful than the former, which, he thought, he should have come to know and accept by now.

'Alright,' he said, hoisting himself up and making a weak attempt at disguising the amount of effort it took to simply sit up straight. 'See you in a moment?'

She nodded, looking visibly pleased, and disappeared from the doorway. He somehow had the feeling that she hadn't gone _very_ far.

'Lilinette?' he asked, after a moment of silence.

'Yuh?' she shot back.

'Close the door,' Ukitake commandingly uttered.

'Sheesh,' she mumbled, and slid the panel in place with just enough delay to hear him chuckle.

Ukitake emerged a few minutes later, fully dressed and carrying a tea trey, with the tea he'd made for himself in the morning. It was cold by now, but it smelled good, and he'd added plenty of sugar; the day was warm enough, anyway, he told himself.

He nearly dropped the trey.

The bonsai had grown a little over the past six months; actually, he thought, his eyes going wide, they'd grown quite a lot, which only implied he'd have to re-think all of their shapes – but the shapes hadn't been that great to begin with, he had never really been good at gardening, he simply enjoyed it, so…

'Aha!' she exclaimed, her grin threatening to swallow her entire round face.

'You…kept…them,' Ukitake managed, hastily putting the trey aside, and rushing to look at the small assortment of plants from up close. 'And you even watered them!'

'Bit too much by the look of 'em,' Lilinette laughed. 'Stark said you gotta cut 'em somehow, but I ain't got a fucking clue, so I just let them be.'

He dismissed her words by quickly shaking his head, and leaned over the tiny trees, delicately touching the wildly grown new sprouts, and feeling happier than he had felt in months.

'Thought you might like to have 'em back, before I let 'em grow into a forest of flesh eating vines or summat,' she said.

'This is so kind,' Ukitake said, looking over his shoulder, and still not hearing her. 'So very kind…I…'

'You're all funny and speechless,' Lilinette giggled.

'I'm all funny and speechless,' he whispered, finding that the phrase summarized everything he felt, from gratitude, to sheer disbelief, to absolute, unexplainable happiness, that made him forget his position to such an extent that he began explaining how the bonsai should have been pruned, and laughing sincerely as her eye grew wider and wider in disbelief.

'Dude,' the girl whimpered, fifteen minutes later, when he smugly stood at the end of an overly arcane explanation. 'How do you remember all that?'

'I don't think I _actually_ do,' he laughed, pouring himself a cup of cold, sweet tea. 'But I think I can tell you anything, and still sound really intelligent.'

'Har, har,' Lilinette frowned.

'On the subject of bonsai,' Ukitake uttered, offering her a cup of the tea in sign of atonement.

She rose the cup to his, accepting the apology, and he sat by her side, feeling light headed, and in the same state of artificial, blissful relaxation as her hunger had induced, not as long as a day before. He knew all too well that a world existed beyond the wild saplings of his bonsai, beyond the walls of his garden. Perhaps, he thought, looking at the girl, it was not the Hollow. Perhaps it was simply her nature; something that had existed before the Hollow. Something that had survived it, and that attempted to heal wounds before they were even cut open.

Ukitake took another sip of his tea. Lilinette did the same.

The midday sun rendered all colours dull; the too tall grass of the garden swayed in the gentle wind, soft and graceful, like silk.

_Green silk; __green, soft and graceful, like Byakuya's scarf._

'What have they decided?' he asked. 'The attempt on Gin's life can't be without consequence.'

'I dunno,' she fluently answered, as if she had expected the question all along. 'They haven't decided anything yet. As far as I know, at least.'

He took another sip of the tea.

'I would tell you if I knew different,' she said.

'I believe you,' Ukitake nodded.

'No, really, I was like, out in front of the thing, and hangin' with Grimm, an' we waited for a really long time. But, I dunno. I left, and he got pissed at me, too, cuz he was bored already, an' I left him waiting alone. Still, I really…dunno.'

'I believe you,' the Shinigami soothingly said. 'I do.'

He looked at the assembled plants. Small, but overgrown nonetheless. He'd have to move most of them into new pots. If the leaves had overgrown, the roots would have overgrown as well. They'd really have to be moved. But that really overshadowed the one true issue.

_Three hundred and fifty years_, he thought. _Three hundred and fifty years, and I still have no idea what shape I want to give my bonsai. And my garden really does suck._

'Thank you, Lilinette,' Ukitake Jūshirō said.

She looked towards him, no longer smiling.

A butterfly flew above, its wings obscuring the midday sun.

* * *

Up next - A complex chapter.


	12. Friday 1

_Friday, July 6__th_

_Occupation Month 6_

She looked up at the sky, sheltering her eyes with her hand, then wiping her forehead and unconsciously drying her fingers on the side of her kimono.

It was hot, and the proximity of a growing number of others did not make it better; in truth, Nakamura Yumi thought, as more and more gathered grumbling about her, after a day in the summer heat, some of these folks were in desperate need of a bath. The hell with it, she amusedly considered, after once more wiping her brow. If they were going to stand huddled together in the marketplace for but another half an hour, she was going to need a bath too.

'How long do you think they plan to keep us here?' her daughter in law asked, with a trace of rebellious annoyance.

Nakamura Yumi chuckled lightly, remembering that just a few years back, when her eldest had brought this young woman home for the first time, it had been this very impatience that had made her wonder whether her shy and quiet Ryu had bitten off more than he could chew. Perhaps she'd been right by half, she considered, stealing a glance at Akane, but it hadn't been all bad. The fair haired young woman had indeed been impatient, but now she was merely determined and set in her ways, as well befitted a mother of three. And, in a sense, Yumi thought, inwardly chuckling at the fact that she could still come up with endless cheap mother in law ironies, Akane had certainly grown stately enough to look like a mother of three. Or just like someone who _really _liked cooking.

'Don't worry, I am sure Hiromi is bright enough to take the soup off the fire if we take too long,' Yumi said, in a conciliatory tone; Akane looked uncertain for a moment, but then swallowed her growing indignation and managed a smile, clearly taking the words for a compliment to her mothering skills.

'True,' the younger woman admitted, her belligerently stiff shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. 'I'd still like to go home, though,' Akane added, decisively stepping on the foot of a man who'd come too close to her, then provokingly staring him in the eye and daring him to protest. 'Don't like leaving the children on their own for too long, and in a strange house.'

Ah well, Yumi considered, there went there proof that daughters in law had bite as well. A strange house…,she dreamily thought. Good choice of words; it implied that Akane and, more pointedly, Ryu had still not truly accepted her decision of leaving her old home – their old home, the home that Ryu had grown up in, and settle to spend whatever remained of her life outside the walls of Sereitei. Her decision had not caused an open rift; both her sons and her daughter had understood that after her husband's death, the big house had truly grown too big and too empty for Yumi alone. All three had made some shy and half hearted offers of moving in, but none, Yumi had known, had truly meant it. Ryu and his sister had families of their own, while the youngest was too obsessed with progressing past the 7th seat in the 13th to truly wish to live outside the garrison.

It was all well, she'd told herself and them. Young people needed new ways and a helping hand; she'd sold the big house, which, if the money she'd gotten for it was to be considered, had never really been _that_ big, and she'd split the money among them, keeping only what she needed to buy herself two rooms and a vegetable garden in the 1st District of North Rukongai. She stayed close enough for any of them to visit when they wanted to – if the house was still strange to Ryu's children, then the fault was not Yumi's own.

'Can't _you_ speak to anyone?' Akane insisted. She now started to sound truly nervous, and she'd given up on her attempts at trying to push others away. The marketplace was not large enough to hold that many people.

Yumi had frowned, and risen on her tiptoes, to look over the heads of the gathered crowd. White Arrancar uniforms were gathering on the sides, pushing the people towards the wooden platform that had been erected over night.

'Not with these,' she'd said, in a cold, dry tone, the only thing that she'd preserved from the time when she was 5th seat of the 13th. Somehow, she thought, her frown growing even deeper, her former duties and the world she'd performed them in seemed no more a distant memory; what was the point of continuing to carry a zanpakutoh and division insignia, if armed Hollow were allowed to roam free amid the innocent souls?

The distasteful destruction of all that Sereitei had once stood for had perhaps been part of the reason why Yumi had felt so little nostalgia over moving away; she'd lived all her life under Yamamoto's rule, and served under his command. The order that she'd lived by had lost the war and crumbled, and she had neither the desire nor the willpower to learn to live with the new one. Leaving Sereitei had facilitated the vain illusion that there were still corners of the world that could not be touched by the Hollow infestation…or at least, some places where the white mould would not spread equally fast, and knowledge of the decimations would somehow, magically, turn into rumour.

Apparently, she had not gone far enough.

The marketplace had become stiflingly crowded, with more people being ushered in from all of the eight side streets.

'Mother!' a young voice cried, making Yumi cringe.

A blonde little girl made her way through the crowd, using her elbows to open a path through what had now become a solid mass. Akane stretched out her arm and embraced the child, throwing a visibly worried glance towards her mother in law before kneeling to match her daughter's height.

'Hiromi?' she asked, looking the child over, to make sure she was alright. Once the initial fright had passed, and the child had visibly calmed, her little face settling into an expression of stubbornness that resembled her mother's, Akane had frowned.

'Why are you here? Didn't I tell you to stay home and watch the soup? And where are your brothers?'

'They came and took everyone on our street,' the little girl answered, frowning as if to say the scolding was undeserved. 'Just grabbed everyone and pulled them here…'

'Where are your brothers?' Yumi asked; her stomach had contracted violently. Something was amiss, she thought, something was in the air…

'Home,' Hiromi defiantly answered. 'One's under the bed and the other's behind the kitchen cupboard, right where I put them when I saw what was happening across the street.'

'That's granny's bright girl,' Yumi said, reaching over to ruffle the little girl's hair. Hiromi grinned proudly in return.

'Why didn't you hide, then?' Akane asked, managing to reprimand though her face had lost all trace of colour; Hiromi frowned, in turn, and, for a second, mother and daughter looked like perfect mirror images of each other.

'I was going to,' the little girl replied. 'But then I thought that I forgot to remember the soup and came out to take it off the fire, and they saw me…'

'You should have left the blasted soup,' Akane scolded, gripping her daughter's shoulder so tightly that the child winced.

'Well, _you_ said to watch it,' Hiromi quickly continued, drawing a bit away from her mother's clutch, and clearly thinking adults didn't have the most minor clue what they wanted. 'Besides, if I just left it there it would've dried out and the whole house would've caught fire…Hey, don't hug me that tight!' she protested, jamming her little hand in her mother's shoulder and struggling to get away. 'Mum, you're tickling,' she giggled as her mother ran her fingers up and down her ribs.

'Yes, I am,' Akane answered. 'That's because _now_ the soup's going to get cold and it will never be ready in time for your dad's dinner.' She bravely managed to smile for as long as she gazed on the child's face, but her smiled faded as soon as she straightened. Still holding Hiromi by the shoulders, she looked towards Yumi in open fright.

'What is this?' she whispered, as if she'd hoped the child would not hear her. 'What are they doing?'

Yumi shook her head, with a deep and unpleasant foreboding. She once more rose to her tiptoes, but immediately stood back down.

'They're closing us in,' she whispered back.

The trickle of people had finally stopped, and the crowd stood, compact and fidgeting, between the buildings of the marketplace and the rows of Arrancar that had completely sealed off the streets. None even dared to murmur in protest, Yumi noticed. People simply gathered by those they knew – neighbours, friends, perhaps families and spoke to each other in hushed whispers. The tense wait dragged on for a few more minutes, while the Arrancar began to spread out, making room for themselves with rough nudges of their still sheathed weapons.

'Gods,' Akane breathed. 'You don't think…'

She didn't dare finish the thought, but Yumi knew what she'd meant to say; it was but a week since fresh rumours of Hollow running rampant and feasting on souls had ominously crept out of the 74th district of South Rukongai. Such rumours had been frequent in recent months, and though none had dared confirm them, Yumi was assured that they carried some amount of truth. Still, the woman told herself, feeling that her heart had begun to beat faster, it could not be _that_ – firstly, because this was the 1st District, and too close to Sereitei's walls for rumours to be contained, and secondly, because whatever this was, it was not Hollow running rampant. The Arrancar were moving together in disciplined lines, with terrifying and purposeful coordination.

'No,' Yumi briefly responded, amazed at the assurance in her own voice. 'No, it can't be.'

Akane frowned, as if querying her mother in law's words, but did not take the subject further, for Hiromi had curiously looked up. A murmur rose from the crowd, faint, but audible like a sudden gust of wind through the leaves of a forest.

'Wow,' the little girl said, her attention suddenly drawn to somewhere ahead. 'Is that an _Espada_?' she asked, in innocent astonishment.

Yumi looked up in her turn, feeling that her lower jaw had turned to iron. She could make out the gigantic bulk of a figure which had appeared atop the scaffolding clearly enough, but it was not the sight of the elderly man that made her cringe instinctively; his reiatsu was enough to drown all the other presences in its sweet, sickly flavour.

'Yes,' she said, narrowing her eyes to get a better view, then drew a sharp breath.

One after the other, figures clad in dark kimonos ascended the scaffolding – even without their white haori, Yumi recognized all well enough – Unohana of the 4th, Kuchiki of the 6th, Kyoraku of the 8th…Her heart skipped a beat.

_Ukitake…Captain Ukitake…_

The black kimonos lined up, with white, menacing figures immediately coming up behind them; all around, the people winced at the sudden, almost unbearable pressure of the combined energies. It was only normal, Yumi knew, casting a glance to the side to Akane, who clearly had difficulty breathing – those without spiritual energy were unused to such density of reiatsu; that was why, Yumi thought, in a time that seemed long forgotten, the captains were careful of their appearances outside of Sereitei. Very few in the crowd stood without wavering – in another time and another place, Yumi almost bitterly thought, this might have made a good Shinigami recruitment test.

She swallowed dry, forced herself to keep looking straight ahead and not notice that Hiromi's breath had not faltered for a single second.

_Like father…_

'Look, mum, there's a little girl my age!' Hiromi exclaimed, pointing at the scaffolding and cutting her grandmother's sorrowful thoughts short.

Yumi frowned, trying to catch a glimpse of what Hiromi had seen.

'Right behind dad's Captain,' the girl insisted, rising on the tips of her toes to get a better look.

Indeed, Yumi noticed. Right behind Ukitake, and at the side of a tall, thin and bearded man, who did not even care enough to cover the Hollow hole in the center of his chest, stood a girl that looked just a bit older than Hiromi.

'She can't be an Espada, she's too little!' Hiromi declared, with something that had sounded eerily like jealousy. 'Can she, grandma? Maybe her dad's an Espada,' the girl wisely concluded. 'I didn't know Hollow could have children!'

'They can't,' Yumi said, in a harsher tone than she would have liked. 'And that's not a child,' she hissed, looking down at her granddaughter. 'That's a three hundred year old Vasto Lorde.'

'Good gods,' Akane whimpered, pulling her own child close. 'Why does it look like that?'

'Probably to confuse those who would judge it,' Yumi said, looking to her former captain, as if she'd somehow hoped she'd catch his eye amid a crowd of hundreds.

He looked so gaunt, she thought, feeling her heart sink, so weak and so empty…He'd always looked frail; he'd always been it, but now even his eyes, which had always carried warmth and fire seemed dull and extinguished. How would they have kept? She bitterly wondered. Forced to live alongside, forced to _obey_ what one had spent one's entire life fighting…

Someone nudged her; she simply nudged back, not taking her eyes off Ukitake – he'd tensed, and she knew he had, although the tiny motion of his shoulders should have been imperceptible at such distance. She still knew him too well to miss the sign. For a moment, Yumi wondered what had caused the reaction, but it had taken her but a few seconds to understand the cause, but she'd soon cringed in her turn.

The transformation in Aizen's appearance never ceased to shock, yet it was the unassuming marking of first division captain, over the white sleeve of his uniform that filled her mouth with bile. Aizen walked onto the scaffolding, closely followed by Gin and Tousen, and the white, outer ring suddenly stood to attention and pressed inward, tightening their grip on the gathered people.

'Unbelievable,' someone breathed; Yumi had half expected to hear Akane protesting as well, but she'd simply frozen, clutching Hiromi to her chest.

All stood so close together now that they could feel each other's breaths, shoulders crammed against shoulders and chests glued against backs; the sense of unease and fear circulated among them, as unseen, frozen currents fed off each other and grew, swelling about them all.

Aizen looked out towards the crowd, then took a few relaxed steps, measuring the Shinigami captains at his leisure; he exchanged a few hushed words with Gin, and even chuckled at something – the sound carried, rising above the solid fear of the crowd, and echoing against the buildings, light, warm and airy.

Still, no one spoke up.

'Stay close,' Yumi whispered, putting her arm around Akane's shoulder, and only then distantly remembering that she had never extended such affection before. Akane looked up in surprise, and Yumi attempted to smile, her crooked expression only heightening the uncertainty they both felt. 'Whatever pointless show of power this is, it's going to be over, soon,' she whispered, voicing hope as knowledge.

Akane contented herself on a nod, and the white shackle grew even tighter.

Up on the scaffolding, Kaname Tousen took a step up.

'People of Rukongai,' Tousen began, momentarily capturing the crowd's attention, and causing them to fall silent. 'Behold those who have failed you.'

'What?' Akane breathed along with hundreds of others. She turned her head, looking at Yumi in incomprehension; Yumi herself was too shocked to answer.

_They're going to kill them all,_ was her first thought. _Gods…_

The notion made her stomach rise to her throat, but despite the fact that her body felt as if it had lost all vigor, her mind raced at a million miles a second, quickly dismissing the idea of an execution. It could not have been that, she realized, feeling a momentary twinge of relief – the Captains were all still carrying their zanpakutoh. But then…

_What is this? _Yumi thought, feeling increasingly panicked. _What is this?_

She took in the attentive stances of the Arrancar who stood to the sides, trying to use her experience to read into the body language of creatures she could barely acknowledge as human. She shuddered as she gazed from one to the other, recognizing the remnants of masks that still clung to their skin. One of them met her glance and grinned without shame; its teeth were long and sharp, as if they had been filed into the appearance of fangs.

But they hadn't, Yumi knew. They really were fangs.

'Our peace has been broken,' Tousen continued. 'As has your peace. A vicious attack that has come to pass yesterday left more than fifty of your Shinigami brothers gravely injured, and killed ten.'

Yumi breathed out hotly; the traitor had even attempted to make his words sound genuine.

_But how many have you killed?_ She wanted to cry out. _The day before yesterday – the day before that? How dare you…_

'This is but a new and devastating development in what has become a danger to us all. This attack, just as the ones before it, could not have been perpetrated without support from within the walls of Sereitei; not without the knowledge or treacherous assistance of one or more of those who now stand before you.' Tousen followed.

Without truly knowing why, Yumi had sought and met the glance of the Arrancar whose gaze she'd crossed earlier. The creature was still grinning wide, its skin rosy and its fangs gleaming with good health and abundance of food. Then, as it brazenly sustained Yumi's glance, the thing whipped out its impossibly tongue, and slowly, purposefully ran it across its teeth.

Clarity struck her like a bolt of lightning, shattering the shackles of indecision, and she did not question it.

_It's not the Captains that they are going to kill, _she thought. _It's us. They will kill us to get at them…_

She hastily turned, looking at the line of figures clad in black, a million thoughts swirling in her mind – for a moment, she did not know whether to feel proud at the first outward hint of resistance from the Sereitei, or furious at the fact that it had manifested so blindly. It didn't matter, she told herself. It did not matter.

'We need to get out of here,' Yumi whispered in Akane's ear. 'Now.'

The younger woman looked at her in fright, her gaze no longer questioning; she did not yet understand what was about to happen, Yumi thought, but she _felt_ it, like a deer that stopped grazing and looked at the hunter just the second before the arrow was released.

'Follow me,' Yumi said, letting her hand slip along Akane's arm, and grasping her fingers. She resolutely began to move through the crowd, negotiating her way one person and one step at a time – without pushing, merely turning sideways or bending awkwardly when the space was too tight. The last thing she wanted, Yumi thought, was to push through roughly enough to distract the others from the seemingly hypnotic effect of Aizen's words.

It was odd, she allowed herself to think, how quickly people – people she knew by half, people she recognized – turned into obstacles. How quickly they turned irrelevant – how quickly they turned dangerous. No thought of anyone else but Hiromi, Akane and herself entered her mind; she did not feel concern for any of the others. It was as if suddenly they had turned animated, but not alive.

They had, Yumi knew, only a matter of a minute or two until the realization that had dawned upon her would dawn upon others. They would speak it out loud, turning fear and uncertainty into panic – the crowd would begin to move, flesh and feet turning into dangerous, uncoordinated weapons; still, the moment of greatest danger would also be the moment of greatest opportunity. Given their positioning, the Arrancar were clearly expecting a clumsy outward push, and they were prepared to meet it. What they did not expect, however, was one or two who were rationally prepared to take advantage of minute openings in their line.

_And there will be openings_, Yumi thought, gritting her teeth and slipping on. _There have to be openings. Some of them will be pushed back – some of them will get greedy and advance too much._

Akane followed as best she could, but she was both considerably taller and of a stronger build than her mother in law – the spaces that Yumi had passed through did not allow her as easy passage. Her fingers slipped free of Yumi's; the former Shinigami glanced worriedly over her shoulder, but the younger woman nodded in renewed determination.

'I'll follow,' Akane mouthed. 'I can see you – I'll follow.'

Yumi nodded.

'Towards home,' she quietly mouthed back, then turned to look ahead, and cursed under her breath, feeling oddly grateful that Hiromi was not nearby and she could allow herself the small freedom. No more than fifty yards separated them from the street which led to their home, yet, though the passage was blocked by three rows of the white, armed monsters, it was the mass of innocent souls that stood in between them and the Arrancar that worried Yumi more.

'We have come to teach them a lesson,' Aizen calmly continued, somewhere behind. 'And you are fortunate enough to be that lesson.'

The crowd moved as one, almost sweeping Yumi of her feet – but this was not _it_, not yet, the woman told herself. The currents of fear had grown solid and freezing.

_Denial_, she reminded herself. _The first reaction is always denial._

'But we have done nothing,' a female voice rose, from the opposing end of the marketplace. 'We…'

'Tis a matter of principle,' Ichimaru Gin had answered, with a shrug.

'Go look in the West,' another cried – a man this time. 'Go look in the West, if you're looking for…'

Approving murmurs rose everywhere, bubbling up like the anger that was slowly building in Yumi's heart.

_Yes, _she thought, _when the time comes, look to the others._ _Not to us. Never to us._

Still, she reminded herself, gritting her teeth and looking over the heads of those who still separated her from the line of Arrancar, she was doing the very same thing. As long as they were not looking to her…She shook her head, and attempted to focus. They would not want to be too close to the Hollows when panic broke – those who stood too close would doubtlessly either get crushed by the outwards push, or be cut down in the first motion. But how far was safe? How close was wise?

'We shall not award cowards the honour of a hunt,' Aizen said. 'They wish to remain hidden, and it is their choice to remain so; swift punishment will find them, even though our hand will not.'

'Let it be known that fire shall be met with fire, and faceless resistance will be met with faceless retaliation.' Tousen said, blankly. 'Those who have struck at us have struck in blind; we too shall strike in blind. One Shinigami soul is worth ten others, thus, for fifty of your brothers…'

Yumi did not allow the words to sink into her mind; she swiftly turned to Akane, knowing that her reaction would be far stronger. The crowd around them whispered louder, then spoke and questioned, only to wail as one – the tight lines broke as people huddled together, allowing Yumi to retrace her steps and furiously grab her daughter in law's arm. There was no further need for subtlety now, she thought, pulling Akane forward amid the rising panic. The younger woman whimpered at the violence of the gesture, but came forth as if her feet were not her own – Hiromi got loose of her mother's hands and ran to grab her grandmother's sleeve, and for a moment, the three held as one, just like all of the others around them.

The frail balance of the group broke, just as Yumi had thought it would; panic spread like wildfire, freezing some, but freeing others. The outermost line of gathered souls pushed against the Arrancar shackle, only to be brutally pushed back. They recoiled, but, aided by the momentum of those behind, who'd begun to push out with equal despair, they came on once more. Akane jolted forth in her turn – had it not been for Yumi's grip, she would have run forward and joined the first line.

'No,' Yumi whispered, then screamed as Akane's despair driven strength would not abate, and she felt she was being dragged forward despite herself. 'No' she repeated, not making herself heard over the hundreds of other voices – the thin line of the Arrancar broke in several places, only to reform as hastily. Encouraged by the first sign of success, the people pushed again, not taking note of the fact that weapons had been unsheathed.

'Now,' Yumi ordered, suddenly surrendering to Akane's pull, and starting to advance at great speed – she weaved through the small gaps in the crowd as if they had been wide, arched portals leading into the light. Hiromi ran too, as fast as her legs would carry her, but still not fast enough; first blood was drawn up ahead, as three of the first line broke away from the circle of their captors. Two had their knees severed from behind and fell, but a third, a young woman with long, dark hair, managed to get away; not wishing to see what she knew was bound to happen, Yumi spun round, letting go of Akane's hand to lift Hiromi in her arms. The gathering of the Cero's energy parched the air of reishi, and all movement slowed, as if mind had triumphed over matter.

One Arrancar stepped five feet out of line, turning his back on the crowd and stretching his arm out towards the young woman; her beautiful, long hair moved like a velvet curtain as she ran.

'There, Akane,' Yumi shouted, pointing at the opening. 'Go!'

Akane nodded and ran, but to Yumi, it felt as if each foot had been a mile; the Arrancar's back was still turned, and light had begun concentrating amid his fingers.

_Six feet_, Yumi counted. _Six steps._

Another Arrancar stepped out of line, tensing her muscles as if preparing to shadow step.

_Four feet._

She'd have time, Yumi thought – she'd just have enough time; once Akane made it through, she'd just have time to step through in her turn, and cast a protective kido behind them all. Whether it would be able to absorb a Cero, she did not know, yet…

_Three._

The Cero was fired and graceful, dark velvet was consumed by flame. Akane froze in mid-step, as the young woman's figure fell to ashes; Hiromi hid her face in her grandmother's shoulder.

_Two steps,_ Yumi thought, digging her elbows into Akane's back and forcing her to keep moving. _One step._

One step too far.

The Arrancar with the long fangs stepped up to block the opening its companions had created, weapon drawn out and arms open to the side; Akane screamed, drawing back as the thing reached for her shoulder. It grinned, showing off its dentition, its glowing, yellow eyes filled with vicious satisfaction. Another Arrancar stepped in between them, hiding him from view.

The shackle was closed, the opportunity missed.

Blood ran along the grooves between the rectangular cobbles of the road, slow, thick and resplendently red. She could smell it, too, Yumi thought, or perhaps she could just imagine she did – the burning flesh should have smelled far stronger.

It was only then that Yumi noticed that Hiromi had begun to weep quietly. She couldn't hear her, just feel her little body wracked with shivers and sighs.

Akane was weeping in her turn, but her face was frozen. Only the tears flowed, one after the other, following the harsh line of the mask of impatient reproach.

'Why didn't you shadow step away?' she hissed.

'It wasn't us!' voices rose, shrill and piercing. 'Why us?'

'It's the West,' some wailed. 'It's the outer districts,' cried others. 'It's the Shinigami!'

'Why didn't you take her and shadow step away?' Akane yelled, covering all the others. 'You had time, you…'

Yumi tried to speak, but the words would not come.

'Why us? It was the Shinigami…'

'Why didn't you leave me behind?'Akane asked; Yumi stretched one arm out. Hiromi stretched both and no further words were needed. Akane joined the embrace, and brief, deceitful peace descended about them.

_I know why he chose you, now_, Yumi eerily thought, but could not bring herself to say.

'Some or all of these have chosen to break our peace,' Aizen spoke; unlike his lieutenants, he did not look out over the crowd, but warmly gazed upon the line of Shinigami. 'Break our peace and disturb our balance; they may choose to remain hidden,' he continued. 'But I shall personally always insist that the scales must be leveled.'

'Not us,' the voices pleaded. 'The Shinigami…'

Yumi ran her fingers through Hiromi's hair.

'Speak up, Shinigami!' they ordered. 'Speak…'

She looked up towards the scaffold, taking in the slight shift in the Captains' line and the expressions on their faces, but not being able to read them. Unohana of the 4th seemed to have whispered something as Aizen passed before her. Yumi could not see her lips moving, but the expression on her face was telling enough. Had she confessed to something? Yumi wondered. Had she simply pleaded?

'Gods of nothing!' a single voice called – Ukitake staggered as if he'd been hit.

'It is time,' Aizen ended, swiftly turning towards the sea of shivering souls at his feet, and opening his arms. As if his gesture had been a rehearsed prompt, the elderly Espada grinned and nodded. The sound of unsheathed weapons covered the screams, and, in the bright sunlight, the shackle gleamed as if it had been made of iron fangs.

An eerie moment of silence and suspended breath preceded the first blow – the burning light of a Cero ripped through the colorful, liquid mass, its passage painting the world crimson. The liquid mass of people parted, pressing against the solid line of their captors and ripping its flesh on swords, but also Hollow claws and fangs. Voices turned inarticulate, as inconsequential souls left inconsequential bodies which still held on to some illusion of relevance even as they reached out to hold each other – desperate fingers, rendered slippery by blood clutching to other desperate fingers, torn arms wrapping about shoulders, knees bending to death and loss…

Yumi felt the heat of the Cero rolling past her shoulders, and closed her eyes, striving to keep her balance as others rushed by.

'I love you so much, Hiromi,' she heard Akane whisper; the little girl stopped shivering.

The shackle tightened, continuing its onslaught, satisfied snarls covering whispers and cries, curses and prayers – a new Cero exploded, crossing another; the Shinigami fell to her knees, pulling Akane along with her. She felt warm blood through her kimono, and fought the disgust, the screams and the fear of others, shutting all but the young woman and the child in her arms from her mind.

A voice broke through nonetheless, rising above all others, each word resounding clearly and vibrantly.

'I, Kuchiki Byakuya, Captain of the 6th Division of the Gotei admit opposition to the New Central and association with the resistance,' Byakuya said, snapping his zanpakutoh away from its place on his hip. Chin held high and shoulders straight, he lifted his arm, holding Senbonsakura out towards Aizen.

'I renounce my zanpakutoh and commission, and surrender to retaliation.' He said, eyes and fingers cold and unwavering, and voice as loud as thunder and as clear as the beat of the Spring Festival drums.

Not believing what she had heard, Yumi looked up just in time to see a graceful wave of Aizen's finger bring the tightening shackle to a halt.

The beams of the scaffold creaked, and Akane's incredulous breath sounded like a whimper.

'I, Kyoraku Shunsui, Captain of the 8th Division of the Gotei admit opposition to the New Central and association with the resistance,' Shunsui said, in a low menacing snarl. He stepped up in his turn, not taking note of the fact that his words had caused Byakuya to look over his shoulder in irrepressible disbelief. The hilt of tashi and wakizashi clinked together as he offered both in sacrifice.

'I renounce my zanpakutoh and commission, and surrender to…'

'I, Unohana Retsu, Captain of the 4th Division of the Gotei admit opposition…'

The Arrancar who stood behind her took a hasty step up, looking as if he'd been about to try and silence her – she glanced over her shoulder with a pained smile, stopping him short.

'…I admit opposition to the New Central, and association with the resistance,' she completed softly. She held her sword out, her tiny wrist wavering slightly as if she'd been unused to its weight. 'I surrender,' she suddenly spat, lifting her gaze to sustain Aizen's, 'to the _preservation of the balance.'_

The Espada who stood behind Ukitake looked towards the woman, as if he'd heard something none of the others had, but Yumi did not dwell on the sight. Though the hand of the little blonde girl - _the Vasto Lorde that looked like a little girl –_ was desperately latched to the back of his kimono, Ukitake Jushiro inched forward.

'No,' Yumi heard herself cry, and in a flash, her captain looked towards her, meeting her glance over the sea of blood and scorched corpses. 'No,' she repeated, pressing Hiromi's head to her chest and finally feeling fear unlike anything she'd felt before. 'There's only so few of us left…'

_And three of them are my children,_ she thought. _My children – I gave them to you…_

'No,' she whispered.

_Not for pride and not for guilt. Not for yours…_

Ukitake Jushiro swallowed dry and looked away, breaking eye contact. He remained in place, and the Hollow's hand slipped free of his kimono.

Silence grew, stretching slowly forth from the scaffold, just like the caking blood slowly coursed under their feet and around their knees. None moved, for none dared to. Ukitake lowered his glance.

'Is it over?' Akane dared whisper.

Yumi shook her head, not knowing what to respond; she looked to the scaffold, where three of four captains stood with their swords still held out.

'Well, who'd have thought ya'd be the only one who kept 'em in line, Stark,' Ichimaru Gin chuckled. The Arrancar who stood behind Ukitake cringed visibly, while the one who had first appeared, the elderly one, seethed with rage as he glanced upon Kuchiki and Kyoraku.

Aizen smiled.

'I accept your surrender,' he said. 'And I thank you for your honesty.'

'Finish this,' Tousen said, as the unassuming man who wore the insignia of the first division captain stepped off the scaffold.

'What?' Akane screamed, slipping out of Yumi's embrace and jumping to her feet. 'Didn't you hear them, they just…'

There was no more time.

Nakamura Yumi spread herself on the ground, atop her granddaughter's body; blood seeped through her clothes and searing light burned at her flesh as tens of Ceros and Barra criss-crossed above her. It all only lasted a second; it might as well have lasted a century – blinding light faded to darkness, screams faded to darkness. Akane's ashes rained over her open wounds like droplets of acid.

She awoke much later.

She could tell, for the caked blood that had flown around her face had glued her cheek to the stone beneath. Hiromi did not stir beneath her, but she could still hear the child's breath and she could still sense her shivers. She heard a distant grunt, swiftly followed by the sound of metal clinking against stone. Then, against bone.

Yumi did not have time to make sense of it.

She was turned over, the skin ripped brutally off her cheek; she squinted against the still bright sunlight, only marginally aware of the fact that it had reflected upon the sharp edge of a sword. She saw, though. She saw well enough.

To her side, an Arrancar had run her rapier through a pile of bodies.

_Metal against stone._

Then, she'd propped her foot on the flesh, and pulled her sword loose.

_Metal against bone. _

Yumi looked at the sky, but reached across the ground towards Hiromi's hand. The little girl took it without hesitation, and the woman closed her eyes.

'Enough,' Ichimaru Gin spoke.

The light of the retreating blade was strong enough to be painful even through her closed eyelids.

'Ya'll did good,' Gin said, his words as kind and as fleeting as a breeze. 'Y'all did real well. Fifteen, from each of you,' he added, dryly. 'And since y'all did well, _ya_ pick'em, this time.'

Nakamura Yumi did not understand what the words meant, and she did not know who they were directed to; the warmth of Hiromi's fingers melted away the caked blood, and allowed Yumi to feel tiny fingers moving against hers.

_West,_ she thought. _I'll go West, after this._


	13. Friday 2

Ukitake language warning in this one.

(Yes, we know!)

* * *

Ukitake didn't move.

He did not as much as lift his chin to meet Shunsui's glance as his friend passed him. He simply stared ahead, absorbing all details of the scene; by now, he supposed, he should have felt little to nothing at all, yet, somehow, the pain simply kept growing. Watching felt like tearing at the edges of an open wound, out of the morbid curiosity of seeing how much of the sensation one could endure.

The Arrancar that had kept the marketplace sealed from the surrounding areas had finally opened, and Barragan's troop had begun retreating to Sereitei, each rewarded with as many souls as they could carry. Some of the bodies, those which were not too badly burned, were still bleeding; the retreating white line left a darkening red trail in its wake.

With the departure of the Hollows, people began slowly trickling into the market. At first slowly, merely peering out from behind the corners of buildings, then, as their numbers grew, dared to advance beyond the dubious protection of the side streets. Quiet, subdued weeping was at times interrupted by a single shrill cry – someone recognizing a friend, a neighbor…

_A child…A wife, a brother…_

Bodies had been laid out side by side, the survivors hastily dragged away to whatever safety and comfort neighboring houses could offer; people walked along the crimson lines until the hems of their own clothes grew crimson. Some fell to their knees when they recognized those they'd been seeking. Some sought comfort in the arms of their companions. Some, it seemed, did not react at all. They simply stopped alongside a particular body, and stood above it with expressionless features, for long minutes, until another person came to drag them away.

And then, there were those who drifted by the side of the long lines, finding no one; they walked along the lines once, twice, some maybe even three times, then simply stood by the side of the buildings, or circled around aimlessly. Sometimes looking towards the now closed gates of Sereitei. Sometimes looking towards the sky. Most often, gazing into nothing at all.

'Was this what you wanted?' Ukitake asked, sensing that Stark had stepped up to his side.

Stark did not respond, and Ukitake did not look his way.

All the others had already long left – Byakuya and Shunsui more than openly prompted by at least six Arrancar; Retsu had been the last to leave, though her shadow officer had vanished as soon as Gin and Tousen had.

It was only Ukitake who had stayed, and Stark had stayed with him, until the bodies had been cleared, until even the drifters had slowly melted away into the streets; all that had been left had been the overwhelming smell of blood and burned flesh, and the dark, red trail of blood splatters which disappeared under the heavy, bolted gateway of Sereitei.

'Was this what you fought and won a war for?' the Shinigami questioned again.

'Let's go,' Lilinette said, from somewhere behind; her voice was no louder than a breeze, and completely devoid of any inflexion. Neither man moved.

'You read your books,' Ukitake followed, softly. 'Your human history, your philosophy, your poems, your mind drifts to thoughts that I cannot fathom and things that I have never felt. Is this it?' he suddenly hissed, turning towards the Arrancar. 'Is this what you think and feel, is _this_ the reality that you imagined when you fought at Aizen's side?'

Stark breathed out slowly and purposefully, not turning his head to meet Ukitake's glance.

'Is this the world that _he_ imagined?' the Shinigami followed, his voice gathering thunder. 'The world that you would create for all of us, for yourself, for _her_?'

He caught the Espada's wrist securely, reacting as swiftly as the other had, and diverting Stark's clenched fist before the strike could his chest; neither man withheld their reiatsu, and furious energies rippled through the air, shattering the windows of all nearby buildings and causing the scaffolding to creak dangerously.

'I shall take that as a _yes_, then,' Ukitake said, through gritted teeth.

'Would you like to draw on me, _cripple_?' Stark snarled, not shaking his wrist loose of the other man's hand, and continuing to push. 'Is courage one of the many ghosts that still visit you from time to time? Go on, draw – make this easy for me…'

'That is the very last of my intentions,' the Shinigami responded, letting go of Stark's wrist, but taking a step closer. 'The absolute last. Is this what you wanted?' he repeated, whipping his arm out towards the marketplace. 'Answer me, Stark – is this the Sereitei you daydreamed of for centuries, in your cave in Hueco Mundo? Is this what you daydream of now? All of this suffering, all of this destruction, all of this bloodshed…'

He sensed his breath was hitching, but he didn't care; he willed the air in and out of his lungs, sensing that each breath only fed the fire and fury that scorched his heart and ascended to his eyes. Ukitake took another step forward, forcing Stark to sustain his gaze, and hoping that the answer lurked somewhere, in the hurricane which danced in the frozen blue depth.

'Did you enjoy this?' Ukitake whispered.

A shadow passed under the ice in Stark's eyes; he blinked it away.

'At least tell me that,' the Shinigami bitterly added. 'At least that…'

'Would it brighten your day?' the Arrancar asked, arching an eyebrow.

'No. But it may give it some meaning.' Ukitake responded. 'Why did he continue after _we_…after _they…_confessed? What was the purpose of killing them all, after…'

'Go ask your own _fucking_ kind,' Stark burst, turning away – he only managed half the motion; seemingly frail fingers, which nonetheless carried tremendous strength gripped him by the chest of the uniform, forcing him to keep facing forward.

'I'm _fucking_ asking you,' Ukitake hissed, eyes narrowed to the width of blades. 'Or don't you _fucking_ know? Hasn't he _fucking_ told you? Or do you not even need to know what you are killing for?'

'No, I do not,' Stark sneered, not drawing away, but leaning in; wild satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. 'And I don't care to. What is it, Ukitake Jushiro? You find genocide palatable if you and yours are the ones committing it? Is that it?' he asked, in a mockingly understanding tone – perhaps, on any other day, the words might have given Ukitake pause. Not today.

'I would think twice before using the deaths of many honourable men and women as an excuse for what happened here,' he said, letting go of the Arrancar and taking a step back in open disgust. 'And I would not hide behind them. Yes, we destroyed the Quincy,' he said, eyes shining with rage. 'We fought a war – I fought a war against an enemy who bore arms, an enemy who renounced every single pact that was ever struck, and more importantly, an enemy whose unforgiving dogma and lack of understanding threatened to destroy the very balance of the world…'

'The balance of _your_ world,' Stark said, his voice overly faint for the words.

'No,' Ukitake answered. 'No, Stark, that is not true, and you well know it. Sereitei's wars against the Quincy had reasons, _good _reasons that you cannot rationally deny, regardless of the depths of self delusion to which you choose to bury yourself. Yet, the Quincy fought for what they believed in, and I respected that; I still do. They believed in protecting innocents from evil at any cost – what we've just witnessed is the very antithesis of their beliefs, of _your_ beliefs and I should dearly hope that you would not call their memory in defence of this madness. Not to me, and not even when you are alone with yourself.'

The Primera looked away.

'Especially not when you are alone with yourself,' Ukitake bitterly concluded.

For a second, the fleeting shadow in Stark's eyes emerged to full might – or it was at least that Ukitake would have liked to imagine it did. Still, though this time whatever the Arrancar felt was not as easily subdued as it had been before, Stark grinned and turned away, an odd disconnect between the darkness in his eyes and the perfect mask of arrogance the rest of his features had shaped.

'I thank for your interest in my inner peace, Ukitake,' he said, without hurry, and without anger. 'I too worry about yours. You ask why Aizen continued his little _lessons_ after all of the others had confessed?' the Primera amusedly inquired, looking over his shoulder. 'I do not know, and care little for it, but, if I were you, I would wonder if he awaited a _full_ confession and retaliated at not obtaining one.'

Ukitake gritted his teeth, pressing his hand on Sogyo no Kotowari's hilt; the sword's energies rose along with his, and Stark stood still, continuing to look over his shoulder, his eyes once more filled with shining satisfaction.

_Draw on me, cripple. See how far it gets you._

The open invitation made Ukitake's fingers clasp the hilt tightly, and it took all of his willpower to keep his weapon sheathed.

'I would dearly like to show you how far it takes me,' he said, not bothering to hide the threat.

'Then do so,' Stark grinned, turning around in full. 'Give me a break,' he added, in a voice that was laden with darkness – and though he'd dearly wished to hear more provocation, Ukitake heard something much different.

_Give me a break,_ he thought. _Give me a break from all of this anger and all of this hatred. Let me be rid of you, you, who are and always have been obscuring my vision._

'What did it feel like to hear them pleading for Aizen to look to the West, I wonder?' Stark dreamily continued, looking towards the darkening sky. 'Did it not give you a hint of pause? It did me – of course, we both know that you coordinated none of the attacks. And trust me,' the Arrancar grinned, 'I would like to think that you did. Especially,' he said, as the fingers of his right hand clenched and unclenched unconsciously, 'the _one_ attack that has not been named and counted. I would like to think you coordinated that one, Ukitake Jushiro…'

_That too would give me a break,_ Ukitake thought Stark would say. He didn't.

'Sadly, we both know you didn't,' the Arrancar concluded. 'Still, while you did not create the attacks per se, it was your strenuous attention in nestling your people together that doubtlessly created the proper conditions. Maybe the other captains just needed to add in the spice. Yet, even though you know yourself guilty, you did not step forth. Why didn't you step forth, Ukitake? Are you so delicately modest? Or are you _just_ that much of a coward?'

Many answers swelled in the Shinigami's mind; many even approached his lips.

_Yes,_ he would have liked to say, _yes, I am that much of a coward. _Or – _No, I did not step up because I understood that sometimes appearing the coward shows courage as well._ Or even – _I did not speak because I was begged to stay silent; because whether you and the others think me a coward bears little relevance when compared to the lives of even ten or fifteen of the people who for better or worse have placed their fate in my hands._ _Because the importance of my people knowing who I still am fades in comparison to the fact that they still know who they are…_Yet, in the flurry, there was only one answer that could truly be used as a weapon, and Ukitake chose it without a trace of kind hesitation.

'I did not step up because Lilinette held me back,' he said, with the shadow of a cruel grin.

Thunder rolled above, and blades of lightning shredded at the gathering summer clouds – the touch of the first raindrop felt like a long delayed and eagerly awaited caress. As rain descended upon the earth, washing away blood and ash, Ukitake stood still, for the first time breathing in not his enemy's rage, but his enemy's pain, and finding it soothing and fragrant.

'You have no answers for me, Stark,' he said, at long length.

The wet silk of his kimono clung to his skin, but felt warm; Stark's gaze was blank, devoid of all shadows and devoid of all storms.

'You have no answers for yourself,' Ukitake smiled. 'And yes, before you even ask, hating you feels good. Hurting you feels heavenly, and I too could surrender to these pleasures as easily as you have; the difference between you and I lies in the fact that I have at least sought to understand you, to the best of my abilities, faulty and incomplete as my perspective on the world may be. Yet,' he continued softly, 'there never was need for that. You have no answers because you have no questions, Stark, because whatever you might have been, once, you are now empty of all meanings, well and truly _Hollow_ in all senses of the word, and regardless…'

His glance slipped to the side to Lilinette.

'…regardless of everything else.' Ukitake ended, finally turning away.

'There is no need for me to wish that you go back to Hell, Hollow,' he said, not looking over his shoulder. 'You already are in Hell, because you've brought it with you.'

Rainwater washed across the cobbles of the square, and bloody waters drained towards the walls, gathering into crimson streams. The Shinigami left; Stark stayed behind, watching the crimson streams fade to red, then muddy pink.

The Hollow left only when the rainwater had carried nothing but mud.

* * *

Ah, by the lack of greetings and niceties on Monday, you could guess it was IVI who posted :) I'd still like to thank you all for your attention - so would IVI, but he's shy and retiring :)

Up Next - Can this day get any worse?


	14. Friday 3

Well, the day could get worse, or better...depending on one's angle.

We (well, at least I, the Abstract Error) had a music theme for this one; about half way through this piece, I'd recommend trying to tune to Kara Remembers, off of the BattleStar Galactica Season 4 soundtrack. You'll find it on Youtube.

* * *

Heavy lead filled the skies, and night seemed to fall as abruptly as the blade of a guillotine which had no patience for the colours of dusk. It continued to rain heavily, and the air smelled of fresh, green grass, leaves and raw earth, and tasted like sorrow.

'You'll catch cold,' Ukitake said, simply.

Lilinette didn't answer.

She continued to sit on the porch with her legs crossed, as she had for the past hour. The words had been the first ones spoken, and Ukitake had not known if up to then, she'd been respecting his silence or he'd been respecting hers.

When he'd sensed she'd sat down on his porch, he'd been somewhat surprised that he did not mind her presence. Then, as minutes had passed, he'd realized he was glad for not being alone with his thoughts – her presence was yet again dulling his focus on his own pain. For no matter how odd it might have seemed, as soon as he'd learned she was there, he'd wondered whether she was cold; whether she was angry; whether, perhaps, she would have liked a biscuit. All small inconsequential things. All, irrelevant things – all things that mercifully demanded the attention of a man who sat alone, in the wake of his failures.

'How are we coming on that hate, then?' he asked, another half an hour later.

'Not so good,' Lilinette responded.

He pictured her frown, and unwillingly smiled.

'Plenty to borrow,' Ukitake said, softly.

'I 'now.'

Rainwater poured over the smooth tiles of the roof.

'You _will_ catch cold.' He noted.

The water coursed along the tiles, forming little powerful streams, which, Ukitake imagined, would form deep grooves along the outline of the roof.

'Come out here, don't be a pussy,' she said. 'Can bring your tea, if ya like. Actually, I think…Shit, fucking cold out here. Come out an' bring your tea.'

'Never used to rain in Hueco Mundo,' Lilinette added. 'Ya don't get it but I'm real cold an' I still don't wanna look away. From the rain. Ya gonna come out or what?'

'Wait a moment.' Ukitake said, settling for the second choice. He sat up nonetheless and went about making tea, thinking of naught but the fire, and then, naught but the bubbling water, the pot, the cups, the sugar, the trey.

_It is just so much easier like this._

The balance of the trey.

Ukitake pulled the door open then sat on his knees by her side, putting the tea trey before both of them. Thin wisps of steam danced in the cold darkness, while the air still smelled like fresh green grass, and leaves and raw earth, and still tasted like sorrow.

'Do you remember me?' Lilinette asked, still staring out into the cold.

'No,' he honestly responded. 'Not like this, at least. I remember your energy and your true form. It's…'

'It's been a long time, yeah,' she nodded. 'Would ya still do it?'

She reached for the tea, holding the cup by the rim to avoid burning her fingers.

'Judge me like you did, I mean,' Lilinette said, holding the cup under her nose and breathing in the vapour.

Ukitake hesitated, and took a sip of his drink.

'It's not that simple, Lilinette,' he said, after a while.

'Shouldn't be,' the girl muttered. 'Should be fucking complicated. Least I hope it should.'

'I mean excusing _him_ is not that simple,' Ukitake said. 'Drink your tea.'

'Stark don't need excuses,' she answered, in a surprisingly cold and dry tone. 'Especially not to ya.'

Ukitake bit his lower lip, and looked at her through the corner of his eyes.

'_Doesn't_,' he sighed, sensing that her unfocussed fury was beginning to burn; he did not shift away, though the sensation was quickly becoming uncomfortable. 'And I beg to differ. Drink your tea,' he repeated.

'Is it gonna make me all woozy and stop me from thinking 'bout shit?' Lilinette inquired, cranking her nose.

'No, but you will be less cold while being wide awake and thinking of…stuff,' Ukitake answered. It was his obvious avoidance of her vocabulary that made her anger recede for a moment. 'If being woozy and stopping thinking is what you are after, I used to have a friend I could have recommended.'

'He!' she chuckled. 'Dude over at the 8th? Think I'm a bit too young for that. Tho' I guess I wouldn't have to drink anything, he'd just have to breathe at me. Why _used_ to?' Lilinette asked, suddenly taking note of his wording. He smiled sadly and lowered his chin, and Lilinette looked away.

'Why did you hold me back?' Ukitake asked.

'Didn't hold ya that tight, you're a big grown man, eh…' she frowned in response.

'And I did not stay back because you held me,' he said. 'I did not mean to imply that. I would still like to know…why. What will they do to the others?'

She didn't answer; the tea in her cup was getting cold.

'Lilinette,' he gently prompted.

'Didn't want to see you breaking your own heart,' she said, still looking away.

'It's already broken,' Ukitake responded, simply.

'Yeh, but _we_ did that,' she said, putting the tea down. 'It's easier when you got someone else to blame, I think.'

'It is, but it is also dishonest,' he replied.

'Honesty don't…_doesn't_ fix anything.' The girl sighed. 'I'm freaking cold, but the rain is so pretty…'

Her voice trailed off, as did her thoughts, and she remained quiet for a few minutes.

'They're asking for the divisions of the captains who confessed to put fifteen of their people forward. Pick'em themselves,' Lilinette said.

'Oh, Gods,' he breathed. He put the cup down in his turn, for fear of spilling it.

'Didn't want to see ya having to do that,' the Arrancar whispered. 'Didn't want Stark…'

She stopped, and picked up her teacup, using it as a pretext to remain silent.

'So, yeah,' she conclusively said. 'You know what I don't get?' Lilinette suddenly picked up, startling him. 'I don't get why he's doing this to y'all. I mean – why not just kill the lot of you and be done with it – Stark fo' sure would have, an'…'

'Quincy don't torture,' Ukitake said, softly.

'Shinigami do,' she rebelliously replied – he frowned and turned his head to catch her glance, but only found that he could sustain it for a few seconds before having to look away.

'Yamamoto…' he stubbornly began, looking down at his hands, but finding the words hard to come by, 'Yamamoto never wanted…'

'Ya but he couldn't not have known about it, Uki, I mean…'

'What did you just call me?' he queried, with a disbelieving grimace.

'Uki,' she shrugged. 'Ukitake sounds long an' official, and Jushiro sounds weird. All of y'all have the funky names,' she sighed. 'Ya can call me Lili too, if you like,' Lilinette offered. 'Grimm calls me that and I sorta like it. Lilinette sounds like…'

'Someone older,' he agreed.

_Someone older, neat an__d rounded. Someone complete, _he thought.

'Stark only ever calls you that.' Ukitake said.

The Arrancar nodded, without looking his way.

'Shiro,' Ukitake offered.

'Wha'?' Lilinette chuckled.

'If you want to call me something shorter,' he shrugged. 'And you're right, Yamamoto could not have not known when to stop. All of us…should have known,' Ukitake brought himself to say. 'It's just that we chose not to look, I think – in the wake of the Quincy wars, I think we all simply wanted to look away from it all. We wanted to believe it was over, so we simply looked away. Or just didn't look close enough…'

'Yeah, but…' Lilinette shrugged. 'You didn't stop. Y'all stomped the Quincy into the ground like they were nothing…'

'We were at war,' he whispered.

'An' that fixes everything?' the girl frowned.

'Sometimes,' he replied. 'At the time, it did. It still does.' Ukitake admitted, taking a deep breath. 'But this war…'

'This war is over,' Lilinette said, kindly. 'And we've won it. So, why does Aizen…still…'

Her rounded face sharpened.

'Torture?' he whispered; Lilinette simply nodded in return. 'It's not that, Lilinette. He's not doing this out of sadism. The Gotei is…was,' Ukitake bitterly corrected, 'an institution. You know, something that people believed in? For the first time, after Yamamoto, Soul Society had rules that everyone obeyed. Some of the rules were not so bright, I think but, rules can change over time. Some of them even did. It just matters that they exist, and that no one is above them, no matter who they are. Us, the souls of Rukongai, the nobles, all…the notion that no one is above the law…'

'_Dura Lex, Sed Lex_,' Lilinette said, making him frown. 'Stark says that, it's from…'

'From his books,' Ukitake nodded, feeling his stomach turning. 'Without one rule for all, Lilinette, nothing is possible. Neither equality, nor justice, nor ascendance, because if there are different rules for different people, there is not even the premise of anything else ever developing. We're far from that, and Soul Society was never perfect, but, without equality before the laws, before those who make them, we can't even hope to progress. And we all know that, whether we read it in a book, or feel it in our stomach. It's a powerful idea. It's what the Gotei stood for, what Yamamoto truly created, or at least aspired to create, and it is what Aizen needs to kill. Because if he cannot, especially here, where time courses at a different pace, he will never truly rule.'

'Tough luck, killing an idea,' Lilinette said, with a little frown.

'Well, the spirit is petty,' Ukitake shrugged. 'Perhaps not that,' he withdrew. 'The spirit is attached, self-protective and so very frail; to most people, the survival of an idea, no matter what the idea is, is far less than the survival of a loved one, the preservation of a pattern, a routine of life, than the need to give and receive comfort. If Aizen simply killed us, the idea would survive easily; we would become symbols of it, and it would linger. He cannot kill Yamamoto's legacy alone, so he needs _all_ to kill it for him, in their hearts and in their minds. He needs all of the people of Rukongai and all of the people of Sereitei to…think, and feel that protecting an idea is worthless, when the lives of those they love are at stake. He needs to show us as empty, and _hollow_, and useless – what use are we, the enforcers of an idea, if we do not, or cannot, act to protect immediately important things…If, worse, us, as the relics of that institution, of that idea, become an enemy to people's lives, to those they cherish…'

'So he'll keep you alive till you become…all that,' she said.

'Yes.' Ukitake said. 'He'll keep us alive until the essence and the purpose are gone. Maybe he will kill us, after he's done. I don't think he will.'

He lifted the cup to his lips, but didn't drink.

'It would not be his _style_,' he said, before taking a sip.

The rain had stopped, but the taste of bitter sorrow lingered in the air.

'I think,' Ukitake continued, 'that this was Yamamoto's mistake, in the end.'

Lilinette looked up in open curiosity, but did not interrupt.

'Overreliance on symbol,' he clarified, taking another sip of the tea, then setting the cup aside. 'As long as ideals, ideas, only rest with a celebrated few, they never truly become reality, and _he_…maybe all of us, we…contented ourselves on being the symbols of that generous idea, without realizing that by keeping it to ourselves we denied its very basis. We enforced what we believed was the rule of law; we thought that once that notion was entrenched – we could progress to the next step. It was just that we never did, we gladly became the embodiment of that rule of law... And it just now struck me…'

'That cuz you kept it all to yourselves, the idea can be killed by takin' the wind outta you lot,' Lilinette said.

'That's why I didn't step up today,' Ukitake continued. 'It's not that I have given up fighting _him_, Lilinette, I haven't, and I…'

'You never will,' she nodded. 'I 'now,' Lilinette smiled. 'I 'now. I can tell.'

'I just do not wish to be a symbol of anything,' he said. 'Not of what we once stood for, nor of Yamamoto's legacy, and not of this resistance. I believe in this idea so much – that under a law, people can be given equal chances, and that they will make the best of them, that I think it should be inherent. That after two thousand years of relative peace for Soul Society, everyone should know what Yamamoto attempted to stand for. And I have faith that everyone should feel it, in their heart, or be able to learn it, that no one, no matter who they are, has to submit to…'

'Unelected power is unjust,' Lilinette distantly whispered.

'And it is not only that,' Ukitake said, unconsciously nodding to her words. 'But also that people are not a mass of sheep to be constantly enslaved or constantly liberated by others. I've always tried to maintain that within my division – making choices, taking pride and responsibility for them. Not least of all because I always felt unable to lead anyone,' he bitterly grinned. 'It was _good_ to know that no matter how far I've fallen in their eyes, my people still make the right choices.'

_Even if I cannot make them myself, sometimes...They still know what to live and what to die for._

He closed his eyes for a moment, and breathed in deeply, trying to regain some focus through the many different veils of pain and sorrow.

'I wonder if Shunsui sees that,' he said, at long length. 'Fifteen people…How many could be left, now?' he bitterly queried.

'Not that many,' Lilinette whispered in return.

Ukitake nodded, and forced some tea down.

'The term,' he began, spinning the cold cup between his cold fingers, 'is ill-chosen. _Judgment_, I mean,' Ukitake softly added, sensing she'd turned to look at him in confusion. He took Sogyo no Kotowari from his hip, and placed it on the wooden planks of the porch, before them both. Lilinette did not recoil from the sight of the sword; somehow, he'd grasped she wouldn't.

'Soul burial and hollow cleansing,' he began, softly, 'are not different in anything but manifestation. In the former, the soul submits to the zanpakutoh; in the latter, the soul has to be fought – but either may result in the soul going into Soul Society or Hueco Mundo. In cleansing, the zanpakutoh is said to be able to purify the soul of its sins, or a certain amount of them…We do not _feel_ anything when we do it; there is no rush of memories of the soul running before our eyes, no hastened life account that we can read in order to make a decision.'

'I'm getting a feelin' I'm not gonna like this,' Lilinette muttered.

'No, probably not,' he answered, gently, then stopped, counting the seconds – until she recognized that a choice was being offered, before she actively chose…

The girl lied down; not like any normal predictable person would have, with her feet hanging outside the porch and her face sheltered under the roof, but the other way round. She crossed her arms under her head, giving Sogyo no Kotowari a slight nudge to make room for her elbows, and looked up at the sky for a few seconds. Her glance shifted to his. In the darkness, her eye seemed to be as dark red as the most precious of rubies.

'You're telling me that it's our own fault,' Lilinette said, without anger, choosing cruel words to illustrate a truth that Ukitake would dearly have liked to word better, or differently.

A truth, nonetheless.

'I am merely saying that it is not _our_ decision.' Ukitake said, at length.

'D'ya ever take responsibility for anything that you do, or do you just sorta…drift along other people's choices?' she jibed, sounding…amused, he thought, frowning. 'Yeah, that's me, mean Lilinette,' the girl added, with a wide grin, and even giving him a victory sign, though her eye had suddenly grown cold.

'Cleansing and Hueco Mundo do not destroy the soul, Lilinette,' he said gently. 'Nothing prevents a soul's reincarnation as a human, nor does it prevent the very same soul from entering Soul Society at a later stage in its existence. Cleansing is not eternal damnation…'

Keeping her glance locked on to his, she tilted her head to the side ever so slightly.

'Come on,' she whispered. 'After all that you've seen and all that you've now learned, ya can still look at _us_ an' say that…'

The plural struck him this time, and though his first instinct was to reach out and caress her hair, or think of something to say that would have changed the utter hopelessness in her voice, he was too tired and still too furious to abscond. Besides, he thought, taking a deep breath and looking away, she hadn't come to be comforted. She'd come to learn.

'Cleansing is not eternal damnation unless the souls themselves choose to make it so,' Ukitake finished.

Indeed, Ukitake thought, lowering his glance and looking at Sogyo no Kotowari. Cleansed Hollow existed as independent entities, just like the souls of Rukongai, and as long as they subsisted in that primary state, they were never truly outside the cycle, and never truly hopeless. It was by choice, or by perverted instinct that they chose to abscond from it, and join their energies to strengthen themselves against death and reincarnation. From Menos, to Gillian, to Adjucha…and then, ultimately to Vasto Lorde, each step of Hollow evolution simply muddied the waters further, and ironically kept new chances, new choices at bay.

'Normal Hollow…' he began, ready to clarify his point; Lilinette shook her head, and sat up.

'Weak selling point,' she said, dryly. 'Morally convenient, but real weak. I'd think up another.'

Ukitake frowned, and prepared to retort. She could not possibly have intuited what he meant to say – _this_ she could not have guessed, and yet…

'What you're gonna say is that ya cleanse Hollow and your job's done,' she rebelliously mumbled. 'An' that once in Hueco Mundo, it's outta your hands what happens; if Hollow themselves had the good sense of stayin' just stupid little Hollow, roam the sands or hide under a rock and die of hunger – not for any other cause, mind ya, cuz trust me, if they get eaten by anyone, they don't die for real, sooner or later they would end up in Soul Society an' everything would be _fine_.'

'Some amount of confidence in the cycle…'Ukitake attempted once more, sensing that her reiatsu had yet again began to burn.

'Oi, come off it, dude,' Lilinette bit, 'lest ya gonna fall of your high horse an' hit your head real bad.'

She furiously breathed in and out, and reached for Sogyo no Kotowari. He instinctively moved to stop her, but her glance – same rounded eye, same deep ruby colour, but _Stark's_ gaze, his fury – stopped him short. Lilinette picked up the sword and put it across her knees, looking at it as if she had willed it to snap in two.

'Confidence in the cycle,' she huffed – and though her voice had not been different in itself, its tone had been stunningly cold and decisive. 'What confidence in the cycle can one possesses, when one does not even remember the cycle exists? Ordinary Hollow rarely have personality or reason and they certainly have no memory of your cycle.'

'Lilinette…' he said, frowning in incomprehension at her suddenly different language.

'You would naturally expect that fallen things, with no memory of their fall or of their former nature, should equally renounce their survival instincts, lay down and die _properly_, all out of confidence in the abstract notion that they may, some day, be something else than they are? Even more, you naturally expect that they would somehow avoid being consumed by larger evils, while not seeking to adapt to the world they've landed in? If you were to judge me again _now,_' she hissed, 'which soul would get to Soul Society? Lilinette? Stark? Or the hundreds of others that _we_ are now? Or would I explode in a puff of pretty butterflies, quite separate from a cloud of green stinking smoke, and all the individual souls would find their way?'

'Or haven't you worked out that one, just yet?' she shot, her eye narrowed and sparkling, her features, her posture and her words belonging to something else than the child she'd been just a few moments before.

'Stark,' Ukitake dryly remarked, his lower jaw suddenly clenching.

_One soul_, he thought. _That's how…_

'Not Stark,' she hissed, breaking his thought. 'Me. What _I_ should have been.'

He sustained her glance, as if trying to make her withdraw the words, but Lilinette did not waver.

'You like to think it's Stark,' she said. 'It would make it so much easier for you if I were his manifestation – I'm not. This is _me_,' Lilinette added, with subdued rage. 'So be honest enough with yourself to admit that your philosophy falls a bit short of reality, without running away to the morally safe zone where I am the good little innocent and he is the root of all evil, and most of all, the root of your inconvenience.'

'You just said yourself that souls choose their own path,' Lilinette said. 'If that's true, I chose before he did. So don't you blame _him…_'

'No,' Ukitake interrupted, shaking his head. 'Lilinette cannot possibly comprehend so much of the Shinigami way of seeing the world to ask what you have just asked.'

'Who said I need to comprehend the Shinigami way of seeing the world?' she laughed – same sound, chilling echoes. 'You've just made me remember that I have heard all of this before. I know quite a few other philosophies in which the damned are only damned because they themselves renounce salvation and have no faith. Quite a few others in which the poor are poor because they don't struggle enough – and all of them based on the notion that those who are down the ladder should fight to obtain other knowledge or wealth that some others were born into, while those who are knowledgeable can look down, and have a clean moral opinion about the rules of engagement. I didn't like it the first time around,' Lilinette shot, 'and I don't like it now.'

'It is deeply _fucking_ unfair,' she finished in a ragged breath; the attack did not leave him time to even properly register her words.

She whimpered and bent over, pressing her little palms to her temples, as if trying to block an overpowering sound that he could not hear – her reiatsu visibly glowed around her, burning him although he was more than a foot away. Lilinette pushed the sword off her knees, and pressed them tightly to her chest, curling in pain the Shinigami could recognize as genuine and physical, but did not know how to treat.

'What have I done…' the child whispered. 'What have I…'

Ukitake misunderstood the question, but it no longer mattered, as nothing else but the pain she radiated with every particle of her reiatsu did. Though he understood little of what had just passed, the realization that whatever the thing beside him was, it was truly _not_ Stark struck him with physical force – he rushed to kneel by her side, and only had a minute trace of hesitation before awkwardly putting his arms around her. By the scalding fury of her reiatsu he'd expected that her flesh would burn; it did not. Lilinette's skin was cold, truly freezing and she shivered with more than irrepressible sorrow and tears.

She did not pull away from the embrace, but rather surrendered to it, the physical proximity making him realize how truly, terrifyingly small and frail her body was.

'It's me,' she whispered, and he nodded, simply holding her tighter. 'It's been me all along…What have I done?'

'I don't know,' Ukitake answered, in full surrender.

_Gods, I don't know…_

'I don't think I know anything anymore,' he whispered, clumsily caressing her hair, and not noticing that his fingers had been covered in fine, white dust.

One, he dazedly thought, trusted that the world, the cycle was inherently fair. He had, and despite everything that he had felt, seen and heard, he discovered that he still did – for the first time, the notion brought no comfort, but simply irrepressible revolt at his own stance, at his own thoughts…

_What kind of man am I_, Ukitake wondered, unconsciously holding the shivering body of the Hollow so tightly that his fingernails had turned white, _that I can see what I saw today, witness the triumph of evil, then listen to her, feel her, and still think there must be some sense to it all? _

_How can I hold this child and have no comfort to offer, except that sometimes, even angels must suffer?_

The rain had once again began to fall, carrying nothing but the taste of sorrow; Lilinette rested her head on his shoulder, and remained motionless, her eye only half open.

She sensed the disorder in Stark's heart as he'd sat at his piano as surely as he'd sensed her fear two days before, and though her body was far away, she could see him putting his wine glass on top of the piano, then resting his forehead on his forearm, and attempting to focus on the keys.

She felt the deep breath he'd drawn as if she'd drawn it herself, and saw the shadow of his fingers drift over the keys.

She loved his hands, Lilinette thought, when his fingers questioningly played the first notes – not even a melody, just tentative sounds, only stringed together by tentative thoughts. She loved his hands when she slipped his fingers between his when he slept, and he instinctively held them tight; when his index pressed the tip of her nose down; when he ruffled her hair; when he turned the pages of his books; when he played out his thoughts on his piano…

_What have we become?_ she wondered, as the disparate notes in her mind aligned to the same sorrowful question. _What is left of who we were?_

She saw him straightening and lifting his forehead off his arm, to add his left hand to the keys; the song grew, still tentative, but with as much direction as the pain in her heart.

The Shinigami didn't understand, Lilinette thought; Stark's left hand pressed low notes to slow and steady rhythm, against a sad melody she'd never heard him play before.

_And it's not only him that doesn't understand,_ she realized, her heart suddenly beating faster. _I don't understand either, because I don't remember who I was. Only Stark remembers for us all._

The Primera's right hand rushed across the keys now, while the left kept the steady and furious rhythm of his heartbeat, the melody ripping though her chest and her head as painfully as his soul unraveled.

'Love,' she heard herself whisper. 'Love of someone…It is supposed to conjure the greater good, bring out the very best in our hearts.'

Stark's hands minutely lifted off the piano's keys, only to descend with redoubled decision and strength.

'What if it doesn't?' Lilinette continued, as if in a dream. 'What if protecting what one loves takes something else? What if only bad things and darkness can keep it?'

'I don't remember much of anything,' she whispered, curling even tighter, as Stark's song dragged unknown regrets and pains through her entire body, 'but I remember the man I love was a _good_ man, a kind man, a generous one…A man who spoke like you do – of equality, and justice…'

She could feel the Shinigami's body shudder, but she did not stop.

'I remember he questioned everything, and himself above all with honesty like you cannot imagine, and I remember he knew how to laugh at himself, and always tried to know what the right thing to do was…All of the things he dreamed and said, all the things he felt…Not my mind…'

Her voice broke, as the furious melody overcame all her thoughts.

'But my heart,' Lilinette said, in a small voice, 'remembers…And he remembers too, an' it hurts so much…so much, that only anger can stop the pain, only hate can fill the void – that's all that protecting me through life and death, and beyond it has left him with. The choices he's made, all of them, all the things that I loved about him, all the things I love about him…All that kindness, all of the good in himself that he's had to kill, because…I…'

'Today was not what we wanted; we never dreamed or spoke of _this,_ we were never even…asked. We just tried to claw back what was denied so many years ago, but we never thought it would come at this price…The man I love died a little more today,' she whispered. 'In that marketplace…with what you said…and he feels it, but he can't let himself think it…Because he needs to blame someone, you and yours, himself, it's just easier when he can blame anyone but me…'

Thunder rolled above, on the piano's keys and in her soul – thunder rolled through Kuchiki Byakuya's heart as he deeply bowed towards the fifteen men that took a step forward, away from the line of their companions, volunteering for death; in a dimly lit chamber, its echoes caused Kyoraku Shunsui to slip to his knees and bury his forehead to Nanao Ise's chest, away from long lists of names that refused to remain letters on paper, but continued to be flesh, blood and history, just as the music continued to conjure thunder in a heartless chest.

'I loved you too much to let go when I should have,' she said, no longer speaking to the Shinigami, as her eye slid shut. 'And it's all my fault that you thought you had to do the same.'

Stark stopped, and furiously swept the wine glass off the piano – it flew against the wall and shattered; to his blurred vision, the mark looked like bloodstain.

'No,' he breathed, staggering away from the piano. 'No, Lilinette, no.'

A small, white piece of her mask fell between Ukitake's fingers; he looked at it in horror and incomprehension. He thought Lilinette was asleep. She wasn't.

'I cannot hate ya, Uki,' the child dreamily said. 'An' that breaks Stark's heart.'

The clarity of her words and the strength in her voice were gone; gone too, was the steady glow of her reiatsu.

'Shiro,' he whispered, without knowing why.

The mask fragment dissolved slowly, like chalk submerged in water.

'Uki,' she sighed, truly falling asleep and leaving both men alone with their demons.

_What new hell is this?_

* * *

Up next - Will we dare to?

Yes, we will.


	15. Saturday

_Saturday, July 7th, the end of an era._

_Occupation Month 7_

* * *

_Il reste de nous des bouts de ruine_

_Des pans de murs anciens, des pierres où l'on devine_

_Que la vie fut belle et riche, avec tant d'amour en prime_

_Avant que le temps ne l'abîme._

_ -Gueri de toi, Sarah Brightman_

_The only thing that remains of us_

_Are ruined ancient walls by which we guess that _

_Life was once beautiful and rich in love_

_Before time passed to erase it._

* * *

'You smell of Shinigami,' Stark whispered, not moving his forearm from across his eyes.

The room was still dark, but, through the small cracks that the heavy drapes he had installed left, the day which grew outside was eager to announce it would be sunny and bright. Stark could not have cared less.

His voice had had no inflexion, and he was too tired to even attempt to give it one; he'd merely made an observation.

'Dunno how ya can smell _that_ on top of all the wine,' Lilinette answered, lingering in the doorway.

Her words had carried no flavour either, and he did not perceive them as a reproach, though he was only assured they had not been one when she'd truly come in, and unceremoniously sat on top of his stomach.

'Ow,' Stark faintly protested.

'Make room, then,' she scolded.

Stark painstakingly shifted to the side, allowing her space to sit between the couch's back rest and his body. Though she could have lied down, Lilinette chose to sit up, with her knees bent in such a way that her heels rested on the couch on the other side of his chest, their bodies entangled in a position that was possessive, and uncomfortable, and thoroughly _familiar_.

Both sighed.

'I know that you're pissed,' Lilinette said softly. 'More than one way to read that...'

'I bloody well should be,' Stark grunted in response, sticking to the literal. 'For all of the things I've done,' he muttered, '_I_ never let _you_ sleep alone...'

Her little hand drifted on top of his wrist, pulling his forearm up. Stark didn't open his eyes, but sighed with pleasure as the tips of her fingers ran across his forehead and his temple.

'It's not 'bout that,' she said.

Stark knew it wasn't, but frowned nonetheless.

'Don't hide from me. I know you...', Lilinette protested.

'If you do, then you know you should have been here, last night,' Stark said, swallowing dry and finally opening his eyes to stare blankly at the ceiling. 'I needed you.'

'Sorry. I kinda needed myself, too,' Lilinette replied, and though her voice was not deprived of kindness, and her hand lingered on his forehead, he felt as if he had been stabbed in the stomach.

Stark looked at her, his senses screaming in alarm at the sight of her broken mask – he tried to sit up, but his head felt as if it had been made of lead and filled with no more than some sort of acid liquid, so he could do no more than run his gloved hand across the cracked, porous edge, and notice that even the softest touch caused fine, bone white powder to fall loose. He unconsciously rubbed his fingers together, but felt no residue.

He looked at Lilinette in incomprehension, and the calm in her eyes made all of the alarm that he felt be replaced by a sense of dread such as he'd never experienced before. She was not in pain, and she was losing no reiatsu, thus, the receding mask could only have meant one thing.

'Yeah,' she said, sustaining his glance. 'It's finally happening.'

_It is__, _Stark would have liked to say. _You're finally evolving._

She – they – had been waiting for this moment for the better part of three centuries; and he would have liked to sound, and especially _feel_ happy about it - instead, he felt as if all his insides had been bound together with tightening barbed wire.

_Why now?_ He dazedly wondered, knowing that the question in itself was wrong; from any rational, reasonable perspective, the timing was now perfect. With the end of the war and settlement in Sereitei, all immediate danger had passed. Lilinette would have the time and safety she needed to go through the painful evolution process – the loss of her mask and the gift of her memories...

_Why now?_

'You're scared,' she whispered, holding his hand.

Stark thought of lying, but slipped his fingers between hers and told the truth.

'Yes,' he answered simply.

'And you can't be happy for me...'Lilinette followed, softly. Stark closed his eyes.

'Not at the moment, no,' he answered, drawing a deep breath and preparing to mount excuses; she simply pressed her other hand on top of their entwined fingers.

'It's OK,' Lilinette said. 'I kinda wasn't expecting ya would be. After all, you're the one who can't resurrect without me,' she chuckled; recognising the irony, Stark smiled sadly in return, and caressed the newly exposed portion of her cheek. Her skin should have felt like heaven; it simply felt cold and unknown.

'I am not scared of _that_,' he answered, finding some solace in the fact that the words had been perfectly truthful.

_That is probably the only thing I am not scared of,_ Stark thought. He tried to smile, but his features felt frozen.

'We've been waiting for this for so long, that...it's unbelievable that it is finally occurring,' the Primera managed. 'I'll be happy for you, once...I _am_ happy,' he corrected, gathering his courage and sounding more and more truthful by the second.

_I'll know what you truly look like,_ he thought, finding the fear was turning bitter sweet. _I'll know what you truly sound and think like...I will not have to guess anymore, and you will not have to either._

'At least you'll soon remember it all,' he said. He looked towards the ceiling, and squeezed her fingers so tightly that she winced.

'Yeah, I guess,' Lilinette answered, with a shrug and a glance that was slightly too meaningful. 'Don't think it will matter much, tho',' she said, her whisper pleading with him not to get upset, and though Stark felt the words as if they'd been a blow to the stomach, he tried not to. He simply clenched his teeth, keeping himself silent – there was no reward. The girl still withdrew her hand from his, and clasped her hands in her lap.

'I 'now,' she began, visibly forcing herself to speak out, 'that ya think once I remember I'm gonna start hating _this guy_.'

She did not need to speak any names.

'Truth is tho', once I remember, I won't be learnin' anything new about him. Nor about you,' Lilinette added, gently. Stark tensed, but yet again remained silent.

'I already know that I loved you, then,' Lilinette said. 'An' I love you now. When I remember, it can only make it more _complete_, cuz then I'll know why I loved you, back then, but...won't change anything about now. I already know the important part. Same with him,' she said, in a quick breath, not leaving Stark any respite. 'I know he judged me, for whatever the fuck that's meant to mean, an' I don't really care what it means either; you think it's one thing, he says it's another, and whichever way it is, it still sucks...'

'So what does he think it is?' Stark resentfully muttered; Lilinette mulled over the words for a long time before speaking them, each second of silence serving only to make him fear the words more.

'He says they don't actually send anyone to anywhere...'Lilinette began, slowly, knowing she'd be interrupted sooner rather than later.

'That is a load of self serving, cowardly manure,' Stark breathed. 'I simply cannot believe that bastard – not only self righteous godly entitlement, but also utter lack of responsibility, or simply sufficient hypocrisy to drown the lot. The fact that he would say such a thing to _you_ of all people, Lilinette...Do you not wonder what he meant to achieve by that?'

'I did, for a mo',' she admitted softly. 'But they're crushed, Stark...'

'Oh no, _he_'s not, not yet,' the man hissed; her glance turned on him, cutting and cold, and she did not need to speak for him to know that she was thinking of bloodied and muddied water running across the cobbles of a square. 'No,' he fiercely refused. 'If he dared tell you _they_ do not judge, he did so for a reason; this man is nothing short of crafty, and I expect that he thinks that by building some relationship with you, he can influence me to let more of his people slip through my fingers...'

'An' you genuinely think that tellin' me he didn't put me in Hueco Mundo is gonna accomplish that?' she frowned. 'I'd think if he were to go that-a-way, he'd cry an' apologise.'

'You are too bright for that,' Stark refuted. 'You would see through it immediately. This, however, is a very bold gamble, particularly given the timing...'

He met her glance, expecting that clarity would have slowly begun to dawn in her eyes, but her expression had not changed. Stark looked away and cursed under his breath.

'A gamble that is paying off, I am amused to see,' he finished, in a mock amicable and detached tone. Lilinette did not fail to register the blow, but did not back away from the provocation.

'Don't you talk that sarcastic _I'm a big man an' I don't care_ crap to me,' she hissed. 'I ain't fucking Halibel.'

'Perhaps,' Stark admitted, in the same tone. 'But you are suddenly demonstrating as much of an ability of digesting and assimilating Shinigami lies as she does...'

'Well, whatever she's been swallowing, she's not been swallowing as much as you. I didn't see Halibel in that market today,' Lilinette bit back. 'Did I miss her?'

'Get off me,' he growled, not giving her time to shift away before he abruptly sat up, despite the fact that the world was dangerously and nauseatingly spinning with more than his headache. Lilinette got up in turn, and used her Sonido to reappear on the opposite end of the long couch; she landed on one knee, for a brief second giving him the impression that she was ready to pounce forward. It took great force of will for her to settle – bring her breath under control, and force herself to sit. She looked to the side for long enough to quench the fire in her eye, and when their glances next met, nothing but regret reigned.

'It don't...Bleeding _doesn't_...matter if he tried to lie to me or not.' Lilinette said, returning to the point. 'It doesn't even matter if I believe him or not, Stark...Whether it's like you think, an' they actively judge, or it's like he says, and they have no control, the entire thing is seriously fucking unfair. That's what I sorta understood when I was talking to him an' I was trying to see if he's lying to me or not – it really doesn't matter. It's not gonna change today, or tomorrow, it's not gonna change me...'

'I don't think this guy is lying,' she continued, though Stark had cursed under his breath. 'It's not that I _believe_ him, it's that I feel that he's not lying, and that he's not trying anything on. I understand how I might be stupid, but...if he is lying, then _I_ will just be wrong. No harm, no foul, been wrong plenty of times before, gonna be wrong again. That won't change the past, or the true _inha...in...inherent,'_ she managed, after a second's hesitation, 'unfairness of it all. Won't change that for however much I tried, I can't hate him. Won't change how I love you.'

The joy her latter words brought did nothing to outweigh the pain the former caused, although he knew it should have; Stark breathed out, slowly and purposefully, and pressed his index and middle finger to his forehead.

'Are we done?' he whispered, not conceding defeat, but willingness to walk away from the battle.

'No,' she responded, gently but mercilessly. 'I'm only just beginning.'

_Yes,_ he thought. _You are indeed just beginning; I am already tired._

'You are many things, Stark...' Lilinette said, softly. 'But in all of our years, I have never seen you being cruel just to be cruel. To be fair, I have never seen you do things out of hate or anger; you do things out of fear, or out of hunger, you do things for _me_, but...You never took pleasure in other people's troubles, they always left you indifferent.'

'I have never had reason to hate anything as much as I hate this man,' he breathed. 'Nothing that I have ever encountered has ever given me reason...'

'To torture?' she asked. 'I thought you didn't do that on principle. Or does the principle only stand if you don't hate _enough_?'

'I would have killed him,' the man responded, through clenched teeth. 'But I cannot do that.'

'So the principle only stands under certain circumstances?' Lilinette continued to query, her frown growing more pronounced. 'All of the things that you have said to me, all of the things that you said you believed in, only exist if the world lets them exist? All that you have ever believed in...'

'I only believe in you,' he whispered.

'Which me?' she returned, not intending to harm but making him cringe nonetheless. 'Who I am now? Who I was in a lifetime I don't remember? The Lilinette in your head?'

'That's unfair,' Stark grunted.

'It is,' she nodded. 'It's unfair to _me.'_ Lilinette said, and though he felt angry, he could not disagree. 'I cannot be responsible for this,' the girl whispered.

'You are not; Ukitake Jushiro...'

'That's not what I mean.' Lilinette interrupted. 'We've won this war,' she dreamily said. 'We both thought that was gonna make you happy, that it was gonna make me happy, and by all rights it should. Look where we are,' she gently enticed. 'We're in a home, not in a burrow; there's a garden outside our window and books by your bed – you've not gotten back everything that you should have had, but you are fucking close, yet you are more miserable, and more filled with anger and despair than I've ever seen you. _Please,'_ the girl whimpered, making him wish to embrace her, 'don't blame me for this. You already have so much to blame me for...Not this, too...'

Stark swallowed dry and looked up at the ceiling, somehow expecting that it would crumble and grudging it deeply for staying intact.

'For a while now,' Lilinette continued, 'I've stood by and watched you; I don't really understand what's up with this new world, and I didn't think that you did either. I thought you were just going with the flow, with Aizen's flow, waiting to see where it takes you, indifferent to other people's troubles as you've always been. But then,' she said, taking a deep breath, 'you suddenly stopped being indifferent.'

He looked up, with a deepening frown, expecting what she would say, but not quite bringing himself to believe that she would truly say it – indeed, she hesitated, and avoided his glance, but continued to speak.

'You started enjoying it,' the girl said, softly. 'You started to enjoy hurting this guy...I've never seen that in you before.'

'What did I do to him, pray tell?' Stark asked, crossing his arms over his chest. 'Did I call him names? Poke him in the eye?'

'No, but you are really coming at him from all possible directions, and you're taking away everything that matters to him, and watching him squirm.' She responded in irritation.

'In case you might have missed that, that is the glorious mission,' he hissed; Lilinette shook her head furiously, refusing the argument.

'Grimm's not taken on any glorious missions, and he's still sitting. And I'm sure if he wasn't sitting, he would not give a damn anyway, he never did, and neither did you. Don't hide from me,' the girl said.

'I am not,' he breathed, turning his head to meet her glance, and reveal storms that would have caused any other to take safe distance. 'I am right here, in plain sight, but you cannot see me, for some reason. You know something?' Stark said, angrily biting his lower lip. 'I think you may be very correct in saying that remembering now will change little for you; even if you do remember your human life, you will not remember every second of every day of almost two centuries in Hueco Mundo. And even if you remember _that,_ it still will not be as if it were real to you. It will probably feel like a nightmare from which you've just awoken.'

_But I remember. The things that I've seen, the things that I've done, the choices I've made..._

Stark clenched his teeth, forcing himself to continue.

'You made all too few conscious choices that you could regret, Lilinette. I have made a whole raft of them, and I remember them all vividly, because I was awake and thought them all through. All of our battles and all of my correct angles, each single time that I decided that what goes down must stay down, each time that I had to move away from myself to simply survive, until I became...'

'But that wasn't your choice,' she whispered. 'And I always thought you still knew who you were, through all that. I thought that once this war was over, you could finally come back to yourself.'

'The problem with memories, as I am sure you will soon learn, is that they do not get wiped on a whim,' the man tiredly retorted. 'I am not enjoying Ukitake's pains, Lilinette,' Stark said, leaning his elbows on his knees, and looking at his hands. 'They simply make me feel better. They distract me, if you will – will you look around yourself?' Stark said, softly shaking his head. 'The first time I breathed _this_ air, it felt like breathing in vinegar. So this,' he continued, anger causing his voice to tremble, 'is where they return to after they remove other's choices and consciousness. _This_ is how they live their centuries, _this_ is the throne from which they mandate others' extinction. No wonder there was never a single question aimed at Yamamoto – who would ever question living in Heaven?'

'How foolish was I,' the man said, his voice growing weaker, 'to ever believe that the spirit never stops pondering, even if the body is well kept and fed? How foolish was I to ever imagine that even those who are born entitled would somehow take one minute's pause to question their entitlement? Shinigami...'

Though his voice was subdued, and he did his best to keep his reiatsu under control, the air around them had begun to tremble.

'It's only now that I understand _why_ they are so callous, why they have always been so callous, not only with those they send into purgatory, but also with the human world – I would have thought that there must be at least some piece of compelling philosophy, but it is simply not the case. There is no need for it, when one is comfortable - these people did not allow Chamber 46 to rule because they believed in its rulings, but simply because it never really caused them more than a spot of bother in their perfect, uninterruptable existences. They were just dealt the upper hand in the soul cycle, and that was that.'

'For what is even better,' he tiredly continued, 'the walls of Sereitei are as tall, magnificent and forbidding from Rukongai as they are from Hueco Mundo... The souls out there...'

Stark swallowed dry, and once more shook his head, not looking her way.

'The souls out there lead existences that are ironically human, filled with human suffering, but also with human hypocrisy – I am willing to bet an arm on the fact that once they do discover they possess sufficient reiatsu to enter these walls, and once they have their born entitlement confirmed by Yamamoto's perverse education system, they never look back. They escape the mire, cross into the walls, and never look back.'

He attempted to smile.

'And you, my Lilinette, would tell me that a man who has sat on top of this society for five hundred years has the right to judge _you_? That I should take no pleasure in stripping away that very sense of entitlement? Oh, I understand,' Stark followed, with chilling satisfaction, 'that having it stripped away must literally feel like having his skin peeled off, inch by inch, and I can feel nothing but...'

'Entitlement of your own,' Lilinette whispered – for a second, he thought he had misheard, and incredulously looked at her. The sweet expression of sorrow on her face did not falter, and though at first, Stark felt nothing but searing pain, familiar, comforting and true anger, the kind that he had never felt towards her, rose to dull it.

'How dare you?' he breathed; her eye narrowed menacingly and she too let her reiatsu out, a small but steady light burning in the growing darkness.

'Yeah,' Lilinette said, dryly, letting him know that she'd acknowledged his anger, but was not impressed by it in the least. '_That _sense of entitlement. That's what you gained since we came here, and let me tell you, it sucks.'

'This is not about them,' she continued, not giving him opportunity to respond with anything more than the unwavering intensity of his reiatsu, which made him wonder how the words had even reached him. 'This is about you...about us,' Lilinette whispered. 'I don't give a fuck about the rest of them, Stark. But you...'

He stood and turned his back on her, clearly unwilling to hear whatever she'd have to say next.

'I felt you, earlier,' the girl said, softly.

He looked over his shoulder.

'I felt you too,' Stark said.

_And I felt him with you,_ he thought, but did not say; she knew it all too well.

'You knew he was right,' she whispered. 'In that marketplace, you knew he was right...'

'Stop going there,' he growled, but turned towards her, facing the battle head on. 'What happened out there today was nothing new to any of them – do you think Ukitake Jushiro would have given the same speech after he'd watched a Hollow colony being _cleansed?_ It's their very own philosophy, need I remind you, that says pluses and Hollow are only different in manifestation, so why would he cringe at one being forced to reincarnation, and not the other? Today was nothing new to this man, he's seen and even done all of this before...'

'Firstly,' Lilinette muttered, 'most of those guys won't go back into the human world. Some of them will get _touched_ and the others will get outright eaten – won't matter which way, they'll still end up in somebody's stomach...'

'Yes, Lilinette, it is called feeding.' He bit. 'You know, that refreshing part of the day when you replenish your energy by using another's energy. Or don't you remember that one?'

'Secondly,' she continued, the tremor in her voice letting him know that the words had reached their target, 'it's not that it wasn't new to him that bothers me. It was that it's new to you, and you...'

'It wasn't new to _us_ either,' Stark said. 'That entire marketplace had less reiatsu than we once consumed in a day.'

'Will you bloody get over yourself?' Lilinette screamed, darting to her feet in her turn. 'You can't have me with this shit! Yes, we've consumed others, and yes, we prolly had more than that entire marketplace for breakfast more than once, but the point is that it was _useful_ to us; that we could not have survived in any other way, and if we hadn't eaten them, they would have eaten us. And don't you try to tell me that there is no difference between that and whatever the _fuck_ happened out there today!'

Stark tried to sustain her glance, but found that he couldn't; he looked to the side, letting out a deep breath, and furiously clenching his fists, as if the gesture could have helped him defend against his own thoughts.

'You are the one who fed less and less as our energy stabilised,' the girl hissed. 'You are the one who neither wanted not needed a colony; you are the one who hibernated and only fought those you needed to fight. Today was at best – at best! – a waste; at worst, it was pointless, and cruel and useless. Barragan's boys don't need the extra pop of energy. These souls are to us what those fucking little green beans1 are to the Shinigami: they clear your nose, but don't really do anything for your stomach. And _you_ know that, Stark.'

'Your point being?' he breathed.

'My point being that although you know how absolutely fucking wrong this was, you can stand here and wave your tentacles, and try to defend it to me, when you can't even defend it to yourself. I felt you,' Lilinette resentfully repeated. 'You can't hide from me.'

'I loved the look on _his_ face,' Stark said, though clenched teeth. 'The looks on all of their faces.'

'And that made it all better,' she ironically quipped.

'Yes,' he answered, with brevity which put the answer beyond doubt. 'It really did it make it all better. You cannot grudge me that,' Stark said, softly and pleadingly; her anger wavered at the tone of his voice.

'I didn't,' Lilinette answered. 'I think I still don't, because it didn't take you too far.'

She sighed, and sat down, looking more tired than he had ever seen her – the posture of her tiny body was strikingly different, straighter, less energetic and far more graceful, and when she pressed her palms to her face, she suddenly looked like she had lost all her answers, and her trust in the fact that she _always_ knew better.

_With age come consciousness, choices and responsibility, _Stark thought, not wondering at the fact that far from pleasing him, the slight and improbable transformation in her demeanour made him feel pain. _The fact that your world is so simple simplified mine, and I loved you for that._

He shuddered, and sat back down in his turn, at pointed and telling distance from her.

_Did I only love you for that?_

'Bloody hell,' he whispered, in response to his own thoughts.

Lilinette stayed silent for a few moments longer, then turned to look at him.

'It didn't take you far,' she whispered – Stark had to struggle to remind himself that the words were a repetition of what had been said before. 'Look, I can't pretend to understand what you're going through, here. I think you've explained it well enough now, and you've explained it before. I know you need to heal of something...Maybe when I remember everything, I'll fully feel what it is, but I still know you need to heal, and I know that anger is as good a medicine as any. Heck, look at Grimm...'

Stark smiled faintly.

'Yes,' he agreed.

'I am not pissed at you,' she said, kindly. 'It's just that...You went to hell for me,' Lilinette whispered, in an incredulous voice, as if she had only then rationalised the implications of centuries.

'I will never regret that,' Stark responded, expecting that the unknown pain in her glance would melt away at hearing the truth; the shadows in her eye only grew stronger.

'But I do,' she said, in a tone that was equally truthful.

His hands began to tremble.

'If what Ukitake said is true,' she said, her glance pleading with him not to interrupt, 'then it's my fault that I turned Hollow...'

'Fucking hell,' Stark breathed, ready to ignore her plea; Lilinette shook her head, and he bit back bile.

'If I hadn't turned Hollow, you would not have turned Hollow either,' she whispered. 'What had you done wrong, in that lost lifetime? I don't remember, but since we've been here, I see glimpses of you, sometimes, that seem so deeply familiar, that I can only imagine I am seeing what you were then. When you play the piano...When you're awake late at night, and read and mutter to your books as if the guy who wrote them was there to argue with you...I don't remember you,' she said, her voice betraying the fact that she was on the verge of tears, 'but every time I see you playing, dreaming, reading, I love you so much that I guess this is who you were. You were a dreamer, and you believed in things...And I took that away from you, when you followed me into Hueco Mundo...'

'No, Lilinette,' Stark answered. 'Ukitake Jushiro took that away from me when he sent you there.'

'Do you feel no doubt about that?' she questioned, looking at her hands. 'Do you not wonder...'

'No, I do _not,'_ he briskly answered.

'The man I think you were would have,' Lilinette said, once more causing his stomach to twist painfully. 'The man I think you were never felt entitled.'

'He's gone,' Stark said, clasping his hands together to hide the fact that they shook uncontrollably. 'He's gone.'

_Il reste de nous debout__ des ruines, des pans de murs anciens, des pierres où l'on devine...__2_

'But I don't want him to be gone,' she faintly protested. '_I_ want him back. That's why we fought this war, that's why we won it; because _I_ want him back. I did not grudge you your revenge, because I really thought you too wanted him back, and that once the wounds were closed, in whatever way...'

'What are you saying?' he softly asked.

'That I'm afraid,' Lilinette answered. 'That I am afraid that the wounds are not closing, they're simply getting wider and deeper – you loved seeing the Shinigami humiliated today, you loved seeing them suffer, but you felt pain for all of the others...And instead of weighing one against the other, you're trying to justify yourself, erase the pain, dwell on the revenge and simply move on.'

_Entitlement_, he dully thought. _When one is so confident in one's mindset and reasons, that they always constitute an excuse, and a perfect hiding place when questions rise..._

'If seeing those people die today gave you so little pause for pain,' the girl continued, 'if the satisfaction of seeing them, of seeing him _suffer_ for them was not enough to make the anger go away...What will it take? What will be enough...'

'I don't know,' he whispered, in surrender. 'I don't know. Maybe...'

'Maybe nothing ever will,' Lilinette finished his thought. 'I feel you...I feel how every time you see _him,_ the rage is born again, new and fresh, as if you'd seen him and remembered him for the first time; all the things that you've done to him, every time that you've made him grovel, all of it is forgotten, and you want to do it again...'

'He stole from _us,'_ Stark said. 'He took _you.'_

'But I am growing,' the girl said, standing up only to kneel before him and take his hands in hers. 'I am finally growing, and you will have me back; it doesn't matter, or it won't matter in a little while...'

'You cannot ask that of me, Lilinette,' he whispered. 'You cannot ask that I rejoice at having you, and forget that but for him, I could have had you sooner...'

The girl rose on her knees and kissed him on the corner of the lips – Stark straightened and pulled away so briskly that he startled himself, his body and his instincts giving them both a better and more painful answer than any words would have. He caught himself just a fraction of a second too late, but the damage had already been done – the woman trapped in the child's body trembled, and her little hands were cold and stiff between his.

'You're not going to want me, no matter what I grow into,' Lilinette whispered. 'You are never going to want me again – you spent so much time trying to live with us as we are now, and forcing yourself to forget who we were, because the memory was too heavy, that you cannot go back. He didn't take me from you for a while...He really took me from you, forever.'

Stark closed his eyes.

'I hate this man,' he said.

_Please hate him with me. Join me in that, if we both know that you can join me in nothing else._

'I need to let you go,' Lilinette said; Stark looked up as if the words had been a whiplash. 'I need to finally let you go,' she repeated, her voice and her eye overflowing with pain. 'I should have let you go back then,' she whispered, keeping the tears in her heart, 'but _I_ was selfish and I didn't; I just wanted to be with you so much that I could not take no for life's answer, and I lingered, and...'

'Did he tell you that?' the man furiously inquired, shaking his head to dismiss his question as irrelevant and already answered. 'Did you believe him?'

She did not look away from his eyes, but guided his hand to her chest and over her heart.

'I feel he is right,' Lilinette said – Stark pulled his fingers away as if they'd been burned, and stood away swiftly.

'No,' he breathed; the push of his anger caused the very walls of the room to shake. 'No.'

'I put you in hell; I killed _you_ and _us_. It wasn't Ukitake Jushiro, Stark, it was me – I was the root, I was the beginning of the cycle...'

'I will kill him,' Stark said, not hearing her. 'Aizen can fuck off. I will kill him, and I will do it with his own sword, so that he knows...'

'Please,' Lilinette whispered. 'Why don't you believe me...'

'Because you're fucking asking me to believe him!' Stark exploded, furiously gesturing towards the window, and the entire world that lay outside it. 'You, asking me, to believe _him!_ What fresh hell is this?' he asked. 'What newly invented madness? Lilinette...' he said, shaking his head and begging in his turn. 'No.'

She looked over her shoulder, not rising from her knees.

'Please,' Stark whispered. 'Don't do this.'

'I love you very much,' the girl said, gently. 'And I want to give you back what I took from you. I want you to return to yourself, and be who you were, before I destroyed you. It is not Ukitake Jushiro, it is me standing in the way of that – you can do that, here, now, and you deserve it, Stark. You deserve to be free of me. I put you in hell. I don't want to _keep_ you there, too.'

'Do not believe him, Lilinette, do not...'

His voice broke.

'Don't let him take you from me again.'

'I love you more than you will ever know,' Lilinette said, then stood, and walked away in total silence, neatly closing the door between them, and on her past.

* * *

1 I mean, of course, wasabi.

* * *

Whew, that was a hard one from many perspectives...But, as good news, it concludes the Seven Days Arc, and the more gloomy section of our show. Some good things will begin happening from now on.

Up Next - Ulquiorra has a laugh. OK, no one believes that so, Gin has a laugh...sounds more like it.


	16. The Joys of Laughter

Good evening, and many thanks all for reading and commenting :) We are much greatful that you are enjoying ^^

So, the question before us is - we have a country on our hands. How do we proceed?

Hopefully Aizen knows...Hm.

Here follows Hearts and Minds Chapter 1,

Where - Gin has no one to laugh with. It is sad, so very sad...

* * *

_Monday, July 9__th_

* * *

'Enter.'

Ulquiorra did, noiselessly closing the door behind him. He bowed briefly, though Aizen's pose was certainly among the more informal ones he'd seen the Creator adopt, and one that the Cuarta would have been more comfortable associating with Ichimaru Gin.

'Aizen-sama,' Ulquiora neutrally greeted.

Aizen smiled wide in response.

He'd been half sitting on the edge of Yamamoto's large, mahogany desk, one foot propped on the floor, while his other leg hung over the desk's edge. A rounded tea trey, carrying oddly shaped, tall cups – five in all, Ulquiorra noted – was neatly placed by his side.

'Who else shall be joining us?' the Cuarta asked.

As usual, his powers of observation seemed to please; Aizen smile grew a bit wider.

'Gin and Halibel. It is odd,' he commented, with a relaxed shrug, and not accounting for the fifth cup. 'I expect Gin to be late, but Halibel is normally very punctual.'

'I have arrived three minutes early,' Ulquiorra responded.

'Ah,' Aizen shrugged again. 'Please, make yourself comfortable.'

For a moment, Ulquiorra thought to respond that he was already comfortable, but decided against it; it made no difference. He stiffly sat on one of the two chairs which stood before the desk, keeping his shoulders straight and not leaning on the chair's back.

The clock struck twelve, and the delicate sound of the gong almost hid Halibel's soft knock.

'Come in,' Aizen said, standing away from the desk; the female Arrancar entered, as noiselessly as Ulquiorra had. The Cuarta did not need to look over his shoulder to sense her bristling at his presence.

'Aizen-sama?' she said, only half in greeting.

'Come in, have a seat, have a cup of tea,' Aizen happily said, not answering the implied question.

With the same reluctance that Ulquiorra had experienced, the Tercera picked up a cup, then sat by the Cuarta's side. Their glances crossed briefly and cuttingly, and neither bothered to disguise the fact that they would have preferred that the other were absent.

The Creator beheld them both, serenely acknowledging their brewing enmity and openly enjoying it.

'Gin has entertaining news for us all,' Aizen said, in the way of an explanation. He picked up a cup of tea in his turn, and smelled it, with his eyes closed, before tasting it. 'But I see he has borrowed some of Szayel Aporro's penchant for a dramatic entrance.'

Despite himself, Ulquiorra shifted uncomfortably. There was something eerie in the air, he thought – Aizen seemed to be in an unusual mood. He truly seemed _amused_, the Cuarta thought, noting that the new Captain Commander had sat back on the desk, in the same disconcertingly casual pose.

Gin walked in without the ceremony of knocking, making both Ulquiorra and Halibel frown. Aizen did not seem to mind, but still bothered to offer both the Arrancar a small apologetic grin.

Something, Ulquiorra decided, was clearly amiss.

'Aha,' Gin said, triumphantly. 'Everybody's here. Sorry to come in a bit later,' he said, winking in Aizen's direction. 'Didn't wanna have ta wait for Ulquiorra…'

The Cuarta stiffened, and got ready to protest – Gin pointed at him, cutting him short.

'No sense of humour,' he said, stating the obvious. 'Gotcha.'

Halibel chuckled, but hastily disguised her reaction with a light cough. Aizen did not take the same precaution; the glance he exchanged with his lieutenant was laden with the same unexplainable amusement, and clearly showed Aizen did not mind Ichimaru Gin's late entrance in the least.

Aizen stood up, and circled to sit behind his desk, never breaking eye contact with Gin; in his turn, Ichimaru stepped up by the side of his Captain, grinning from ear to ear, and taking in the visibly uncomfortable Espada with the same open pleasure as Aizen himself did.

A few more seconds passed, in awkward silence, and Aizen took another sip of his tea.

'So!' Gin began, rubbing his hands together; the interjection slightly startled Halibel, who immediately shot a questioning glance in Aizen's direction. The Shinigami smiled reassuringly. 'I've had a funny day today an' I reckoned I'd share it with all of y'all, so maybe ya have as much fun as I did.'

'Continue,' Ulquiorra said.

The dry prompt did not seem to enhance Gin's inspiration; he sighed, and for a moment, his grin receded slightly.

'Eh,' he muttered. 'Long an' short of it is that I got meself a new shadow officer for the 3rd.'

'Really?' Halibel asked, suddenly becoming interested in the subject.

'Yuh,' Gin answered, nodding rapidly. 'An' ya ain't gonna believe who it is.'

'Continue,' Ulquiorra prompted once more.

'Lilinette petitioned for the position, this morning,' Aizen responded, instead of Gin. 'We considered it, and, in light of new occurrences, we believe it is not an unworthy idea. Thus, she will sit.'

'You _do_ have the most awkward sense of humour,' Halibel dryly remarked, after a very short moment of silence, making Ulquiorra think that perhaps he detested her so much because she was, sometimes, remarkably similar to himself.

Her voice had betrayed no sign of irritation – which, given the energy presences of the two Shinigami, could have been regarded as wise. Despite their perpetually relaxed demeanors, neither Aizen nor Gin ever did more than _inform_ about their decisions, and neither was keen on any form of contradiction. All Espada and even lesser Arrancar acknowledged that fact, and, if ever they disagreed, they were intelligent enough not to challenge. Halibel's own restraint, however, did not stem out of fear; neither did Ulquiorra's. Still, while the Cuarta accepted all of Aizen's decisions without even the most minor trace of inner debate, as he truly thought the Creator beyond mistake, Halibel sometimes seemed to be accepting out of curiosity. She did not truthfully understand everything that Aizen did, but she reveled in the mystery and took pleasure in fully trusting him, while trying to guess where the decisions would lead.

This seemed to be one of those particular occasions.

The Tercera leaned back on the chair, visibly settling in for a longer discussion, despite the fact that Ulquiorra did not feel like there was anything left to discuss; Gin had communicated his news, and all thoughts of motives and secondary implications were unfit for the Creator's presence.

Indeed, Ulquiorra thought, he would have to consider what Stark had done to earn himself a second division, but he would do so when he was alone; the unexpected threat was something that solely concerned him.

'It should be most interesting to see Lilinette handling a full division,' Halibel noted, to no one in particular. 'Given that the third has almost no seated officers left, I think the term shadow is even inappropriate in this case.'

Gin smiled at the question, which had not truly been phrased like a question, but took pleasure in answering it nonetheless.

'Yeah, well, I s'ppose that it will be a bit of an experiment.' He shrugged. 'But – she ain't gonna be totally alone…'

'Of course,' Ulquiorra said, rather more cuttingly than he had expected; he fancied he'd heard Halibel chuckle again, but did not dignify hear reaction with any of his attention.

'I am talkin' 'bout Grimmjow,' Gin clarified – and now, he was _truly_ inviting a reaction; Halibel did not disappoint. She straightened, and furrowed her brow.

'I thought Grimmjow was dead set on not taking any shadow officer assignments,' she said, with audible displeasure. Her stance on Grimmjow, Ulquiorra knew, would probably never change, and while she did not take the Sexta's continued presence in Aizen's second inner circle as a personal affront, she was certainly never shy of expression her opinion on the subject, in a manner which always left Ulquiorra with the unpleasant sensation that Halibel did not know her place.

'He was,' Aizen shrugged, 'but I think that with Grimmjow it is always a question of motivation; our Gin was simply unable to find the correct one…'

'Har, har,' Gin chortled, not minding the quip. 'Didn't see ya or Tousen go after the cheeky bugger, eh,' he said – to Ulquiorra's utter astonishment, Aizen lifted his right hand, in acknowledgment of the truth.

'True enough,' he conceded. 'I do not believe Grimmjow should be forced into responsibility at all times,' he dreamily added. 'He can be, of course, but that implies he will never learn anything, and I personally see stinted growth as a very sad occurrence. It is quite pleasing to me to be offered not one, but two pleasant surprises in a single day – that rarely ever happens,' Aizen sighed.

'Two?' Ulquiorra asked.

'Yup,' Gin responded, in Aizen's stead. He paused, clearly in the interest of dramatic tension, then allowed his grin to recede in disappointment when neither Halibel nor Ulquiorra posed the question that floated in the air. 'C'mon,' Gin sincerely moaned. 'Ya're takin' all da fun outta me…'

Ulquiorra did not feel obliged to respond, but, at his side, Halibel's reiatsu warmed, ever so slightly, and she joined in the game.

'All right,' the woman said. 'What is it that you truly want to tell us?'

'Well,' Gin answered, once more grinning wide, 'I think it's safe to say that Lilinette ain't gonna fit into her tiny little vest for very much longer. I wouldn't mind her continuin' to wear it, tho',' he somewhat thoughtfully added.

'Excuse me?' Halibel inquired – and this time, there had been no trace of either warmth or amusement in her voice. She'd inched closer to the desk, and frowned deeply. 'What are you implying?'

'That contrary to popular belief, I like boobs,' Gin shrugged, visibly putting Halibel off, and making Aizen rest his face on his palm and shake his head in fatherly disappointment. 'Wha'?' Gin muttered. 'There ain't no bigger truth…'

'What Gin is trying to say is that Lilinette is evolving,' Aizen stated, shooting a disappointed glance at his lieutenant.

'Impossible,' Ulquiorra said; he thought he'd heard Halibel breathe out the same word, but it did not truly matter.

'I assure you, it is not only possible, but also verifiable,' Aizen agreeably continued. 'We do not yet know what triggered it – a subject that you and I, Ulquiorra, will have to investigate in a more thorough manner,' he added, expecting the Cuarta's nod, 'but she has lost a significant portion of her mask over the past week. Furthermore, a brief interview has made Gin feel that she is…different,' Aizen said, using the first word that came to mind.

'Stark projects,' the Cuarta said, briefly and with no trace of doubt.

'That ain't it,' Gin replied, scratching the top of his head. 'Apart from getting' da feelin' that there are some clouds over paradise, which oughta make Halibel 'ere a bit more interested in da whole thing, I didn't feel Stark at all. This is something real new…'

'And an event that makes us quite happy,' Aizen picked up. 'It is the first time we see something like this occurring, past the Hougyoku intervention. We did not even believe that such an event was possible, since the Hougyoku should have, in theory maximized her potential already. Still, it seems that we were all wrong, in various ways and to varying degrees,' he concluded, alluding to Halibel and Ulquiorra's deeply rooted conviction that Lilinette was no more than a complex projection of Stark's mind. 'We should like to see events unfold.'

'So you made the nomination so that you can keep an eye on _them_,' Halibel said, indirectly telling Aizen that she was not convinced.

'Partly,' Aizen responded. 'I should like to observe this, and it will be far more comfortable if Lilinette is not hiding away in the 13th headquarters. But we truly did not make the nomination. Lilinette petitioned for it…well,' he grinned, letting Gin finish the phrase.

'Petition is not exactly what she did,' Ichimaru completed. 'Was more like she grabbed Grimmjow by da tenders and marched him into my office. Sorta in the way that she normally does with Stark, only this looked a bit more brutal, to be honest,' he completed, looking terribly uncomfortable at the mere thought of the sensation.

The Shinigami fell silent, leaving the two Arrancar a few seconds to digest the information; though both Aizen and Gin continued to smile, a certain coldness descended over the previous light mood.

'Lilinette's evolution might be a side effect of the Primera's unusual conformation,' Aizen said, his voice no longer betraying signs of amusement. 'Their nature might have channeled the Hougyoku's energy towards the Stark entity, which is probably natural, since he was always the stronger manifestation.'

Ulquiorra nodded briskly.

'In that case,' the Cuarta said, 'we are merely going to witness a rebalancing of a finite quantity of reiatsu.'

_If she is getting stronger, he will be getting weaker_, Ulquiorra thought, not feeling the satisfaction any other who carried his long history of conflict with Stark might have felt, but merely registering the fact.

'Indeed,' Aizen nodded. 'But if it is not the case, the implications of this are much wider than we had expected. If the Lilinette entity is truly a completely different manifestation than Stark, and new outside conditions are causing her to evolve past her Adjucha stage, and even past the limits of the Hogyoku, she might not be the only one.'

'We could be havin' new Vasto Lorde poppin' up like mushrooms all over da place,' Gin concluded. 'That's really a phenomenon we wanna keep our eyes on. Methinks,' he threateningly chuckled, 'that's a phenomenon ya might wanna be keepin' yer eyes on.'

Ulquiorra nodded once more, noting that Halibel had shifted uncomfortably.

'Has Barragan been informed?' the Cuarta asked.

Logically, Ulquiorra thought, the chance of new evolutions was higher where the concentration of entities was the highest; Barragan's troop would have been the first group to watch.

He suddenly stiffened, instinctively bringing his hand to his hip, while Halibel hastily turned around and Gin frowned – among them all, it was only Aizen who did not manifest any surprise as the door swung violently open.

If Lilinette's evolution was indeed a mere rebalancing of reiatsu, Ulquiorra thought, menacingly lowering his chin, the drain was not yet showing in Stark's energy. The Primera continued to be surrounded by the same semi-solid mass of reishi, which writhed menacingly with his every move. Under normal circumstances, Stark always sought to bring some semblance of order to his reiatsu – not because he actually had sufficient respect for those around him, Aizen included, to hide its permanent and implied threat, but because, Ulquiorra knew, Stark felt far more comfortable hiding the true measure of his strength until he actually intended to employ it.

The Primera advanced to the line of the two chairs that his fellow Espada had been sitting on, then took one more step beyond it. He pointedly looked to the side, breathing out barely controlled fury, and refusing to acknowledge either Ulquiorra or Halibel with even a glance.

'Leave the room,' Stark said, addressing them both nonetheless.

Halibel darted to her feet in tangible outrage, but she did not get the time to protest.

'I said – _leave the room,_' the Primera repeated, slightly moving his chin in her direction, and causing her hair to whip at her visor although his eyes were still locked to Aizen's.

Ulquiorra did not move, and did not look up, refusing to acknowledge Stark's presence just as Stark refused to acknowledge his. He let his reiatsu out nonetheless, projecting a poisonous wave of reishi that was merely enough to keep Stark's energy from fully surrounding him.

Equally surprised by the Primera's irregular behaviour, but clearly not as impressed by it as the two Arrancar, Gin shot a questioning and amused glance at Aizen.

Without looking Ichimaru's way, and keeping his glance on Stark, Aizen pushed the tea trey forward a mere fraction of an inch.

_The fifth cup._

Ulquiorra needed no further explanation. He fluently stood and straightened, just as Halibel retreated half a step; their glances crossed once more.

'Aizen-sama,' Ulquiorra said, bowing briefly before turning around to leave. Halibel and Gin followed, none seeing fit to question further; it was Halibel to make sure that the door was firmly shut behind them, and effectively sealed all sound and all energy within the chamber they'd just left. Ichimaru chuckled at her gesture, then paused, taking them both in with the same unnerving and superiorly amused vibe.

'Boy, is Stark _pissed!_' Gin exclaimed, with malicious glee. 'Trust y'all are convinced I ain't pulling your leg, now, eh?'

'I did not think that you were,' Ulquiorra responded, dryly.

His words left a strange impression on Gin – for a second, the First Division lieutenant actually looked disappointed.

'Yeah, guess not,' he muttered to himself. 'Oh well,' he said, turning around without hurry. 'Just goes ta show – what one man finds funny…eeh,' he sighed deeply. 'Y'all have a good day now!'

Without a further word, he headed towards the far end of the corridor, towards his office. Ulquiorra snappily spun on his heels, and began walking in the opposite direction, doing his best to ignore the fact that Halibel would be walking by his side until they reached the courtyard.

He did not appreciate the fact that she was thoughtful, and that, by consequence, she did not control her reiatsu as attentively as she should have; for what was even more unpleasant, though he could sense she was as surprised by the information as he had been, and as clearly displeased by Stark's utter lack of deference, Halibel's energy did not feel _quite_ as restless as he had expected it would. Ulquiorra found that disconcerting, and worthy of clarification.

'I did not believe this development would please you, Tercera.' He said, still stubbornly looking ahead.

'It doesn't,' Halibel answered, trying to make her voice as dry as his had been – the unpleasant, amused vibe still managed to make it through, and Ulquiorra found himself obliged to shoot a cutting glance to the side.

'Lilinette was never a friend to you,' he continued, attempting to provoke her without success. 'Whether she is developing her own powers, or simply draining Stark's, this effectively means you will be gaining an open enemy while losing a reluctant ally. If Lilinette grows to attain Stark's sexual interest, she will deprive you of any means of control over him.'

She did not hurry to answer; side by side, they walked through the brightly sunlit corridor, two silent shadows gliding through the square patches of light cast by the tall windows.

'That is one possibility of regarding this, Ulquiorra,' Halibel said, precisely when he had given up awaiting an answer. 'The other possibility is that _your_ one true enemy is growing either stronger, or more balanced. Lilinette will never turn on Stark. And, of course,' she continued, 'if Lilinette is actually evolving on her own, she is effectively showing you that others, who are Adjuchas at present, may still attain Vasto Lorde.'

'Grimmjow,' she dreamily added, 'springs to mind. But frankly,' Halibel suddenly said, her words turning into a chuckle, which caused the air to hiss repulsively though the hidden fangs of her mask, 'I cannot think of that _right now._ I know I should be, but I just reminded myself why I seriously cannot,' she laughed out loud. 'Grimmjow!'

Ulquiorra stopped and turned towards her, wishing to tell her that the irregular behaviour must stop – as soon as he laid eyes on her, however, he understood he would be wasting his breath. The woman had fallen a few steps behind, and leaned on the wall, laughing so hard that her entire body shook.

'I know…' she attempted to articulate between wild chuckles, which the outraged expression on Ulquiorra's pale features seemed to intensify, 'that I should be worried, but poor Gin…I should go and tell him I am truly seeing the funny part of this. Lilinette _and _Grimmjow, running a division! That beggars belief! I almost feel sorry for the Shinigami…the chaos! The insanity!'

'I do not believe that this should be amusing,' Ulquiorra muttered, in open irritation.

Halibel waved his words away with a flick of her wrist.

'Can you say _unmitigated administrative cataclysm_, three times, fast_?'_ she managed, all but bending over with laughter.

Ulquiorra possessed no sense of humour, so he did not even attempt to.

* * *

Stark continued to look to the side, waiting for the very last echoes of Ulquiorra's energy to vanish in the distance. Judging by the look on the Cuarta's features, and by the fact that both him and Halibel had withdrawn without protest at the mere hint that Stark too was expected, the Primera guessed what the small gathering that he had not been summoned to had been about, and felt as if he'd been drowning in his own bitterness.

Not only, he thought, at the fact that Aizen had so quickly seen fit to share what Stark regarded as his own, deeply intimate predicament with those who could gain the most by the knowledge, but at the fact that Aizen had so accurately predicted his reaction.

Or perhaps, Stark tiredly thought, at the fact that he had reacted exactly as Aizen had expected.

'If it makes you feel any better,' Aizen kindly said, at long length, and only when he too had noted that all traces of Ulquiorra's reiatsu had vanished, 'neither Ulquiorra nor Halibel are overly delighted at the news.'

Stark breathed in deeply, then held his breath, as if he'd feared some verbal expression of the pained confusion which rendered his eyes dull would escape with his exhalation.

'Please sit, and…' Aizen began, in the same kind tone, cutting himself short as he met Stark's suddenly sharpened gaze.

'I fear you will not be able to hold me responsible for anything that might happen after you utter the word _tea,' _Stark said, and though his voice had sounded tired, rather than defiant, the look on his features clearly expressed that his sense of self preservation was running dangerously low.

Aizen leaned his chin on the back of his folded fingers, and dreamily gazed at his Primera.

'I fear it might be a little early in the day for wine, in my case,' he said, delicately implying that he suspected it was rather late in the day for Stark, but not insisting on the notion. 'Will you not sit, either?'

'I prefer to stand if you do not mind,' the Primera answered, making Aizen sigh pensively.

'What is it with you, Stark?' Aizen questioned. 'You have an almost pathological need of making yourself uncomfortable on all occasions…'

He shrugged, and took a sip of his tea.

'Stand then, if you must.' He agreeably concluded.

Far from appearing pleased, Stark chewed on the concession, as if only _now_ he'd been overcome with the desire of sitting down; he did not, but slightly shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and took another deep breath.

'I have come to ask to be excused,' he non-directionally said, feeling too tired and too defeated to enjoy the mild look of surprise on the Shinigami's features.

'Do you wish to resign?' Aizen inquired, letting an honest hint of astonishment slip into his words, before he adjusted his expectations and once more attacked on point. 'Are you done with Ukitake?'

'No,' Stark answered, in his turn not bothering to deny the Shinigami's intuition. 'He is still alive, thus I am not _done_ and this is not a resignation. However,' he continued, 'I do not think myself capable of sitting across the hall from Lilinette, at present. If I understand correctly, she will be sitting as shadow to the 3rd Division…'

'That is odd,' Aizen interrupted, straightening his back. 'Her request and the fact that we intend to honour it is very new; I wonder how you have come by this information?'

The Primera's eyes narrowed dangerously.

'I do not need to be informed of what Lilinette does,' he said, finding that the words caused him more grief than comfort. 'This may soon change, but it is not yet the case. It is her intent to distance herself from me as she evolves…'

'Do you approve?' Aizen honestly inquired; Stark briskly turned his head, looking out the window and away from the Shinigami's glance, as if the answer had lain somewhere outside.

'No,' he answered at long length.

He dearly wished that Aizen would not press the subject, and maintain the illusion that he could, at least sometimes, shed his godly aspirations; it was enough, Stark thought, that by his own intuition, and with the assistance of Ulquiorra's many eyes and ears, Aizen was already all-knowing. He was already all-powerful. There was no need for him to so shamelessly insinuate himself in everyone's hearts and minds, seeking knowledge that he could gain by any other means, and that he would only use to empower himself or cause harm.

_At least the other God actually had the sense of humour to give us the illusion of free will_, Stark thought.

'Do you not, then, wish to control her?' Aizen asked, with the same sincere curiosity.

'I have never sought to control Lilinette,' Stark bitingly answered, finding odd reassurance in his own words.

'She has never sought to separate,' the Shinigami kindly returned.

'The fact that I feel she belongs to me does not imply that she actually does,' the Primera answered, once more meeting Aizen's gaze. 'More often than not, I find that neither love, nor trust, nor loyalty can survive overbearing and intrusive control. I probably could still control her at this point, and in my opinion, it would be for the better, but I believe the action would make less of her, and not lastly, less of myself. Whatever she might feel for me in the wake of that would, at best, be a empty and truncated version of what her feelings might have been. Do _you_ not get that sensation, with those that _you_ love?'

Aizen's eyes narrowed, and he clearly thought his next words through, leaving Stark to wonder whether the Shinigami was pondering the question, or was simply having a hard time finding anyone he loved that the question would apply to.

'No, I do not,' Aizen answered, briefly, indicating that the issue was settled.

He leaned back on the chair, abandoning the particular line of questioning, and settling for another.

'What will happen to your conformation, if and when she evolves?' he asked. 'Will she genuinely separate?'

'We do not know.'

Aizen paused, leaving Stark time to acknowledge the danger which lied in his response.

'What will happen to your combat capacity?' the Shinigami further inquired.

'_I_ do not know,' the Primera replied. 'I am assured there is no shortage of those who can and will test that on your behalf, when the time comes.' He added, letting the Shinigami know that the practical reasons for which he might have wanted to bring Lilinette under control had already been considered and dismissed. 'I have come to ask to be excused,' Stark reminded.

The Shinigami slowly inched further, leaning his elbows on the desk, knotting his fingers and resting his chin atop them. The kind, understanding smile had not left his features for a single second.

'I have never asked you for a favour,' Stark breathed, forcing himself to sustain the other man's gaze as he uttered the words.

The left corner of Aizen's lips stretched crookedly out, while the right stayed in place.

'Neither has anyone else,' the Shinigami dreamily responded. 'Please,' he said, softly tilting his head to the side, '_do_ have a seat.'

'Bastard,' Stark said, slowly and clearly, with no intent of disguise; in turn, Aizen only lifted his chin off his fingers for long enough to indicate the chair where Ulquiorra had sat.

'I would like to understand this uncomfortable pathology of yours, Stark,' Aizen said, when, after a final moment of bitter hesitation, Stark had let himself fall heavily onto the seat. 'Although, I do sometimes concede to myself that when I will understand it, you may become slightly less interesting to me. I also have to admit that the most disconcerting amid your many flaws is your incapacity to trust – anyone, yourself…_Me,_ above all else…' he added, leaving the phrase in suspension. 'Trust brings comfort,' Aizen concluded. 'You perpetually choose against it.'

Stark remained silent.

'Why is that, Stark?' the Shinigami asked, hinging his decision on the Hollow's reply, and forcing his power over yet another realm where it did not belong.

'Lilinette holds all of our ability to trust,' Stark replied, in a low growl. 'She leaves me with none.' He added, wondering if Aizen would intuit the many nuances of his words, and then realising that he did not care in the least.

The Shinigami gave no sign of finding the answer sufficient.

'And she wishes to trust even more,' Stark said, lowering his glance. 'She wishes to have _faith_ in your cycle…'

'Ukitake. I see,' Aizen remarked, with a certain sense of satisfaction – he shrugged apologetically when he met the Arrancar's furious gaze. 'The other thing that is ironically and perpetually true about you is the fact that the cyclical nature of your troubles gives you no hint that all spiritual flows are, indeed, and if you'll pardon my language, a cycle. Lilinette is correct in wishing to accept that inalienable truth, and I find it refreshing that Ukitake still has the power to teach it. I am glad he is alive.'

'You have no need for this,' Stark whispered.

'No, but I believe you do,' Aizen responded, then leaned back, and looked up at the ceiling. 'All of you,' he dreamily added.

_And you think you are here to educate us all,_ the Primera thought, dully.

'I understand,' the Shinigami said.

'What do you understand _now?'_ Stark tiredly asked.

'Why you cannot face the part of yourself that wishes to acknowledge the truth of your fall,' Aizen distractedly responded. 'I do not mean that literally, of course,' he added, with yet another kind shrug. 'It is not that I think of you as _fallen,_ it is that you do, and you sometimes leave me no choice but to think you fallen as well.'

'The Shinigami,' he continued, in the same dreamy voice, 'believed they separated good from evil, and that their ability of doing so exists because good is inherently stronger. I think we've taught them a lesson in that regard, have we not, _Primera_?' Aizen inquired, with a little chuckle. 'The problem is that while they came to believe that they separated good from evil, and you yourself still believe that they did, they truly were not given that power. The only power that they possessed is managing the cycle – there is no righteousness to it save for that that they themselves chose to see, it is simply a mechanical process. You are not evil, Stark. You simply _are.'_

_And that should be enough._

'Yes, Aizen-sama,' Stark said, inwardly wondering whether Ulquiorra would have managed the phrase in a more neutral and lifeless tone. He looked up, his glance telling the Creator that he was too tired for this fight, as he was too tired for all other fights. 'May I be excused?' he asked.

'I wonder if _she_ is more interesting than you are,' Aizen said, ignoring the question, and not giving the most minor indication whether the words were meant to be received as a threat. 'We shall see,' he sighed, finally returning to the present. 'Very well, then, Stark. I understand that you will find your presence in my council even harder to bear, now. I shall do my very best to find another way in which you can repay me for the privilege of remaining close to Ukitake's enlightened presence.'

Stark gritted his teeth, making Aizen chuckle.

'You are excused,' Aizen said – though the Primera did not use any extraordinary means, the speed at which he left the room without bothering with a farewell came very close to rivaling his Sonido.

Left alone, Sousuke Aizen dreamily glanced out the window for a few seconds more, then stood and walked towards the windowsill to regard his new world more closely. The day outside was splendid, as was the view of Sereitei's white walls, and the many neat rows of tiled roofs and bright green patches of gardens that stretched out from the foot of Sokyoku Hill.

'Lovely,' he said to himself, but addressing the view. 'Even more so because you truly cannot be left to your own devices.'

_None of you, _he thought.

The tip of his finger ran across the polished wood of the windowsill – at first aimlessly, but then, in the decisive pattern of a summoning spell.

'Szayel Aporro Granz,' he whispered, knowing the words would carry the distance and turn into thunder by the time they reached their intended destination. 'You will now be received.'

* * *

Up Next - Szayel Aporro at his best, thus Uno is in trouble. Gonna be interesting...


	17. Plain Speech

Where we see just how far someone can go if they have no regard for ethics and the beginnings of a new race.

* * *

Unohana felt her knees had simply melted – had it not been for the handy presence of the specimen rack, she felt as if she would have sunk to the floor.

By comparison, Szayel Aporro stood straight and calm, visibly unaffected by the enormity of the news he had just delivered.

'You cannot ask that of me,' the woman breathed, her voice still holding on to authoritative refusal.

'I am not the one asking.' The Octava responded dryly. 'In fact, I believe thinking of it in terms of _asking_ is unhelpful. Aizen-sama does not _ask._'

He watched her staggering to find a chair, but remained motionless, his hands clenched behind his back, even after she'd sat and their eyes had met.

'Szayel Aporro,' she shakily said, 'no…This…'

'My initial suggestion was Kotetsu Isane,' he replied, in the same dry tone, feeling nothing as the woman before him shuddered in revulsion – at what had been asked, or perhaps merely at the fact that the Octava's idea of kindness was offering the person who was probably the closest to Unohana up for sacrifice in her stead.

She looked up, shaking her head with a look that rested between denial and incomprehension.

'She is far younger than you,' Szayel Aporro said, still standing immobile. 'I explained the fact that since you have not conceived for two thousand years, even your natural likelihood of conceiving now is very low,' the Octava shrugged, expecting her to understand and approve of the logic.

Unohana simply buried her face in her hands.

'How could you even think of such a thing, Szayel Aporro…'

'The opportunity was offered and I saw no reason to refuse it,' the Octava responded, smoothly. 'And, my dear Re-chan, need I remind that it was you who strenuously protested against in-vitro trials?'

'Yes, because people are not cattle!' she exclaimed, suddenly standing up; her reiatsu closed about him, threatening to smother him if she took but one step closer, but Szayel did not withdraw. On the contrary, he let the silky strands of his own energy loose, and smiled wide.

'The differences are not that great, for the vast majority of the population,' he purred, turning away without haste.

'So you believe that you can _mate_ us, within a controlled programme?'

'Worked with the cattle,' the Octava shrugged, intending no irony by the words. 'Selective breeding achieved higher productivity, resistance to various pathogens – and that,' he said, sitting down and gracefully crossing his legs, 'was only the low technology beginning. I am sure that I can refine and advance the process quite a bit now. The main problem,' he began to reason, out loud, 'is the Shinigami immune system; I will need to find a way for the pregnancy not to be toxic and prevent spontaneous abortion, after conception has occurred.'

'In a sense,' Szayel Aporro continued, 'I think I am for the first time amazed by Aizen-sama's _scientific_ foresight. Allowing me to proceed to live testing immediately has effectively cut off two to three months of laboratory preparations. Assuredly, the beginning will be somewhat less smoother than it would have been with prior testing – but we would have had to face _field _conditions sooner or later anyway. Hm,' he cheerfully said. 'This has decidedly been a good day.'

'Do you hear yourself speaking, I wonder…'Unohana queried softly. The look in her eyes was one of sincere and pained disappointment, and he frowned.

'Did I yet again make a too optimistic calculation?' he smoothly asked back, rationalizing that the ironic reference must have tremendously hurt her, but finding no logical reason to stop.

'You are speaking of repeatedly subjecting someone…_me_…to rape…' she whispered.

'I beg to differ. It need not be a brutal experience,' the Octava shrugged. 'I am sure that Aizen sama has proposed this method to verify if bonding can actually occur between the two ends of the spectrum – it is perhaps of greater interest to him than the actual racial crossing…'

'You are then considering having your subject repeatedly suffer through potential miscarriages,' Unohana said, her voice filled with dread. 'Do you not understand…'

'Firstly,' Szayel said, lifting his index to interrupt her, 'I believe that I shall get around the immune system issue very fast, once conception does occur. Secondly,' he continued, adding his middle finger to the count, 'repeated miscarriages are an exaggeration. If one particular subject miscarries more than twice, it would be unwise to continue, and the subject will be switched. Thirdly and finally,' he ended, lifting his ring finger, 'early pregnancy miscarriage is not overly uncomfortable physically. As for the psychological trauma…'

He grinned, and shrugged.

'One cannot be overly traumatized by losing what one did not want in the first place.'

Unohana's entire body tensed, and she began to shiver.

'Let's face it, Re-chan,' Szayel said, standing up and beginning to pace. 'Your lack of enthusiasm for my little project is caused by the fact that if it works, it will effectively end what you perceive as your racial supremacy. Which was thoroughly undeserved and illogical in the first place,' he snarled, looking at her over the rims of his glasses. 'I believe the outcome of this war should clearly prove that; we are not only physically stronger, but more rational and dare I say, far more intelligent and adaptive. I should think that pure Shinigami, as a race, have two options – become extinct, or adapt in their turn. I think that if present circumstances do not change, the former is an undeniable and perfectly predictable outcome, and thus, I believe you should be quite pleased at having the opportunity of imprinting some direct genetic heritage on the future…'

'What future?' the woman asked, bravely trying to keep her eyes from welling with tears. 'Aizen's future?'

'Philosophy carries an aura of precision, but holds no weight,' Szayel Aporro brightly responded, waving his small hand to reject her words. 'Does it matter how you define the future? The poignant reality is you _will_ become extinct…'

'So will you,' Unohana answered, facing the challenge without hesitation. 'Without Shinigami, there can be no Hollow; without Hollow powerful enough to emerge transformed by the Hougyoku, there can be no Arrancar…'

'Of course not,' the Octava said, lifting his pointy chin. 'It is only _good_ that exists by contrast. Evil, as you define it, always stands on its own. Hollow too can create Hollow – in fact, I do believe that one of the main functions of Shinigami is to assure that not all human souls turn Hollow in the first place.'

She looked away, and by the expressions which quickly succeeded each other on her features – each more powerful than the next, and all familiar – sheer disbelief, pain, resentment, disgust, Szayel Aporro could very accurately predict what she would ask next. The prospect of the question did not frighten him; the answer was well rehearsed, and it would neither be the first time, nor the last, that he'd be asked.

'Do you truly _feel_ nothing?' Unohana whispered, looking at him as if she had seen him for the first time. 'It is not even a month ago,' she continued, pressing her hand to her chest, 'that you showed me you were capable of such generosity…'

The words took slightly more toll than he would have liked, but did not scratch as deeply as she might have hoped – the Octava's true mask slipped, and his bright smile waned, but no expression of regret or confusion emerged on his features. Instead, his face turned blank, and the corners of his thin lips straightened to immobile, untouchable and inhuman perfection; his glance became cold, and the only sparkle that remained in its depth was hungry but detached curiosity.

She seemed shaken by the vision, and took a small step back. As she well should have, Szayel Aporro thought. He did not reveal himself to many.

'I believe that on the same occasion, I warned you against assigning me moral qualities that I do not possess,' he said, slowly and decisively. 'You chose not to take my advice.'

She still did not understand, he thought, with a small hint of irritation. She still did not understand.

'Szayel Aporro,' Unohana began, still denying the truth, and addressing the part of him that she'd falsely imagined into being, 'this cannot be…Think about what you are saying, think about what you intend to do…'

The Octava simply blinked.

'Of course I am against your project,' she said, opening her arms wide. 'I have done…'

'Indeed,' he nodded. 'You have done everything in your power to halt me and slow me down, from the very beginning. You have been very graceful and intelligent about it, of course, as is your nature, and because you did not wish to risk your division – what you gave with one hand you always argued away or simply removed with the other. Your ambivalent efforts never became a true hindrance, but they did not go unnoticed.'

'Are you punishing _me_, by this madness?' the woman asked.

'No,' he responded, dryly, adding no more.

_If you doubt that_, Szayel Aporro thought, _you have truly understood nothing. That would be most disappointing, Re-chan…_

Unohana looked away from him, visibly doing her best to read some hidden meaning into words that were pure and literal truth; she failed yet again, but, the Octava dispassionately thought, the danger faced by those who possessed wondrous and unexplainable _faith_ in human nature, was the fact that the belief was so deeply entrenched in their own image of self, that renouncing it would cause their entire psychological edifice to crumble.

And for that reason alone, she insisted, and he chose not to interrupt.

'Szayel Aporro…' the woman said. 'I am not opposing this project to stint _you.'_

'I accept that,' the Octava nodded.

'I hope you do, because I…' she breathed, then shook her head, abandoning the line of thought. Perhaps she might have said she did not find him personally objectionable, as long as he was kept in check. He did not resent her for it. In the end, she was perhaps the only one aside the Creator who'd ever given him that much trust, and allowed him to simply _be, _even within confines.

'Both Shinigami and Hollow are necessary, natural implements of the cycle,' she said. 'If nothing else, new souls are created in Soul Society; Hueco Mundo…_compresses and concentrates_ them,' she managed, gracefully finding her way around the first word that came to her mind.

Unohana sat, and hid her face in her hands once more.

'From a higher perspective,' the woman tiredly continued, '_if_ you are successful, this balance will be shattered. You will create something that is neither Shinigami nor Hollow; no culling or compression of souls will occur…'

'I doubt that is the case,' Szayel Aporro muttered – her glance shot up to meet his, and he frowned in sincere incomprehension. 'I doubt Hollow hunger is a recessive trait,' the Octava said, not understanding the terror in her eyes. 'There is no reason to assume that it is – why…'

'So you are envisioning that rational, complete creatures, born to Soul Society, will grow to _consume_ each other?' she breathed, in sheer terror. 'That even in the presence of social ties, reason and intellect, Hollow hunger is _not_ recessive?'

'Have you met any Vasto Lorde recently?' Szayel snarled, needing no more than point to a reality that was all around them.

'I have never seen you feed,' Unohana whispered.

'Now it is you who is being unhelpfully literal. You have never seen me feed because I hunger for something else than raw energy,' the Arrancar answered. 'I am feeding _now._ In fact, I think that I have fed more over the past six months than any of the others have._'_

She all but whimpered; the part of his brain that he'd arduously trained to recognize emotional queues he could not otherwise process told him he should have stopped. He did not – not because he wished to harm her, but because he actually trusted her capacity to understand him, and, as had happened with few in his lives, he truly wished that she would.

'Hollow hunger is not only sheer consumption,' he explained. 'It takes many shapes – indeed, literal feeding is the most common form of manifestation, but…'

'Please, stop,' the woman said. 'I do not want to hear this.'

Szayel Aporro swallowed dry, clenched his lower jaw and remained silent, allowing her to find another hopeless path of attack; it took her a few minutes to do so.

'Then,' Unohana said, at the end of an eternity of silence, 'if this works…If you manage to repress the Shinigami immune system and make sure that pregnancies are carried to term…what next? What will you and Aizen do next?'

'I will do absolutely nothing,' Szayel shrugged. 'Once this is done, I will have answered my question, and I will move on to the next. I am not concerned by the large scale implementation of anything – I am not an engineer,' he resentfully muttered.

'But can you not envision what will occur?' Unohana asked, softly; she stood and took two decisive steps towards him – it was not the implied, unwilling threat of her vastly superior energy that made the Arrancar withdraw, but rather the hope in her eyes. Szayel Aporro could process and defend himself against the former, but was utterly helpless against the latter. 'Do you think he will wait for _any _bonding to occur between the two ends of the spectrum? He has no interest in that,' she pleaded. 'He only wishes to progress towards hybrids as soon as he possibly can – if you succeed in doing this, Szayel Aporro, there will be mass inseminations and no Shinigami woman of childbearing age will be spared. Trust me, Aizen knows better than to imagine that _natural bonding_ will occur at any stage of this process…He will neither need it nor want it to happen, if you succeed…'

His eyes widened slightly.

'_When_ I succeed,' he said, his smooth voice carrying the tiniest hint of panic. 'Not if, but when. I do not fail.' Szayel Aporro said. 'I never fail,' he repeated, expecting her to acquiesce and remove all trace of doubt.

'Oh Gods,' she whispered, looking at him in a way he could not quite place, then lowered her glance, waging a battle against herself. 'No, Szayel Aporro,' she tiredly whispered, at long length, 'I know you never do.'

He nodded, feeling that he'd scored an all important victory, but once more recoiled when Unohana lifted her glance to his, after running her tense, trembling fingers though her hair.

'How can I make you understand that for once, just for once, this is not the issue?' she asked, no trace of anger in her voice. 'It is not about succeeding at this monstrosity, Szayel Aporro…If the world were reduced to a specimen vial, and all that success implied was that your markers turn fluorescent, I would gladly help you…'

'But this is not about your success,' she said. 'This is utterly wrong, from so many perspectives…'

'Science is not _wrong_,' Szayel responded, clenching his teeth – yet another familiar argument, he thought, yet another rehearsed answer. 'Intelligence has no morality and it has no need for morality – it is utterly neutral, self standing…'

'And consequence free…' she dreamily uttered.

'Consequences exist because we choose to invent them.' The Octava said. 'It is a question of manifest intellectual laziness, Re-chan, and I would hate to know you truly succumb to it - oh,' he began, his voice turning bitingly ironic, 'I am wondering about such and such a subject, but before I continue to question, I must first seek to find out if my questioning is appropriate, by the standards of a society which is content thinking that science pours into its brain from a television set, or by the standards set by some bearded old men, who might or might not have sat in a tent some four thousand years ago, in the charming company of goats. I am mercifully free of _all this;_ I recognize no need for society or for other random empathic and moral comforts which lead the human, and indeed Shinigami mind to be so distastefully stinted, even when it is naturally endowed. I am my own measure. You should be your own measure as well._'_

'Judging by your present speech, Szayel Aporro, I made a tremendous mistake by setting you free of Kurosutchi.' The woman remarked. 'Perhaps his studies would have led to knowledge of Arrancar anatomy that would have allowed us to tear your kin asunder with the flick of a button.'

Her voice had not been cold, but it had carried an oddly neutral ring which might have made anyone else shudder. Szayel Aporro did not; to his ear, the uttering had been the sweetest music.

'Yes,' he approved. 'If you remove all useless trappings of morality from your mind, you should be thinking exactly that, by now. I do not grudge it.'

Unohana offered him a pained smile.

'I will have to disappoint you,' she said, bitterly. 'I do not. Not yet, at least,' she whispered, resting her forehead on her palm, and questioningly glancing at him. 'What you fail to see, Szayel Aporro,' Unohana added, 'is that morality, too, is consequence free.'

She tiredly rubbed her eyes, clearly not expecting any reaction to her words, then pressed her hands together.

'Do you still…care for me?' she asked, not bringing herself to say a word that was horrendously ill fitting to the circumstance.

'Of course,' Szayel responded.

'But you still cannot see why what you are planning to do is devastating to me, both personally, and in the dimming light of what I once was,' she noted, visibly taken aback by the factual tone of his voice.

The Arrancar swallowed dry and looked aside for a moment.

'You see, Re-chan,' he said, now sounding as tired as she did, 'I understand that I should now say that I am sorry. I could even do so. It would, perhaps, have some value to you. But it would mean little or nothing to me, and if it all the same, I would rather not lie to you, and reinforce…'

She nodded bitterly, telling him she had already understood where he intended to go, so the Arrancar nodded in his turn, and paused.

'Harming you was the very least of my intentions,' he said, feeling that frustration resounded in his voice, and wondering at the sound. 'I truly care about the outcome of this, but, in what regards you, I think I was looking for something else.'

Szayel Aporro was not often gripped by the desire of explaining himself – in fact, over his past two lifetimes, he could only recall two or three occasions when he'd had the same feeling. By force of experience, and sheer detachment, he normally regarded those who did not instinctively understand him as intellectually impaired, and immediately demoted them to the state of animated laboratory equipment or grudgingly granted them the status of budget holders. His world, for as far as he could recall, simply contained those two neatly separated categories of people, and he had never felt the need of doing anything more than use both to advance his interests.

'I have never had an equal,' he ventured, offering the stray thought no support by either facial expression or tone of voice.

_But for your moral restrictions, you could be one,_ Szayel thought. _If you could do this with me, you would not only remove moral restraints not only from your mind, but also from your sexuality, and for the first time, I…_

Uttering the words out loud was unnecessary, however. Unohana had looked his way, and shaken her head in instinctive fright, to him, and to all that he'd proposed and outlined.

The Octava idly wondered why he had even considered the probability of a different response would have been statistically mentionable.

'Not like this, Szayel Aporro!' Unohana had exclaimed. 'You cannot place people in impossible positions to force them to _learn_!'

'Why?' he asked, with an honestly rebellious frown. 'How else…'

'Gods, not like this…' she answered, standing up. 'I cannot divorce my mind from the implications of your experiment, and I am certainly unable to divorce my sexuality from my feelings simply because you put me in a situation where you think I should achieve both…'

'Why?' Szayel inquired again, in a small, indecisive voice.

'Because this is not how the heart works,' the woman had softly said, taking a small step towards him.

'That is not a comprehensible or rational explanation, Retsu,' the Octava answered, letting out a shaky breath. 'It is not an explanation _at all_.'

In a way, the Arrancar thought, the experience had been valuable; he remembered the illusionary sensation of physical pain in his chest was heart break, as it was experienced by all. But then, he reasoned, that was where the parallel stopped. In the logical flow of human psychology, he should have also been experiencing some amount of anger or disappointment, or, at the very least, the habitual and instinctive disgust that he normally felt when he met a glance as full of pleas as Unohana's was, at that very moment.

He felt little of those, but the pain in the center of his chest did not lessen.

_Hormonal release in response to emotional stress leaves my brain indifferent, but still causes sensation in physical receptors,_ Szayel Aporro noted to himself, fancying he had stumbled upon an interesting fact.

'Do not make me do this,' the woman whispered; he'd been too absorbed in his own thoughts to note how close she'd come, and found himself incapable of withdrawing. 'I will learn nothing of what you wish me to learn, Szayel Aporro. I cannot ask you to understand that, perhaps,' she kindly added, 'but I feel I can ask you to at least acknowledge it.'

The Octava clenched his jaws, and forced the notion down.

'I can see why, from your perspective…' he began, cautiously.

'Then help me put a stop to it,' Unohana said, her gaze stubbornly linked to his. 'I cannot stop it, but you can…'

'Do you wish to be replaced?' Szayel Aporro inquired, feeling that he was making a genuine best and final offer. 'I can, perhaps, insist that we choose a more overall fertile subject, although…'

He could feel that she was beginning to seethe with anger, but did not wrap his reiatsu about himself, simply letting himself be surrounded by her energy from all sides.

'I mean help me stop _all_ of it,' she repeated, coldly and decisively – and this time, the Arrancar did pull away, and turned his back on her; no empathy was needed to comprehend that the sudden resolve in his eyes would do nothing but harm.

'You mean for me to abandon my project,' he said, in a remarkably detached voice, which he inwardly congratulated himself for. 'And the only reason why you have _tolerated_ me thus far was because you never thought it would gain genuine traction, and it was just a harmless, if somewhat distasteful occupation from my part. One that would keep me busy and distracted, while you indulged in your own hobbies.' He added; both knew what he'd been alluding to, but, though he half turned to look her way, the woman bit her lower lip and did not recant.

'You cannot blame me for that,' she dryly said.

'And I do not,' Szayel shrugged. 'Yet, now that my game has gotten past the point where it is a mere distraction, and allowing it to progress no longer serves you, you want me to stop playing with knives. I would ask you to consider the _ethics_ of that,' he snarled.

'It is not a question of personal ethics,' Unohana said, once more not denying his intuition, but choosing a different route. 'You say you care little for anyone's approval. Why, then do you need their recognition, and Aizen's recognition above all?'

'That is a ridiculous notion,' Szayel answered, turning towards her in full, and feeling at safe distance. 'I do not need anyone's approval _or_ recognition…Heee,' he suddenly uttered, making the syllable as triumphant as it always was, and scoring a tiny victory.

It was her turn to take a step back.

'I see where you are going, Re-chan,' he obligingly said. 'I will grant you – your emotional intelligence rivals my intellect. It perhaps even surpasses it, but you are yet again falling victim to the very illusions I would like you to shed. I have no emotions for your EQ to work on,' he breathed, taking another step forward and making her retreat another step. 'You've tried to summon whatever soft feelings you know I have for you, then swiftly followed with an attack on my pride. It would work on any other individual. Perhaps it has even worked on me, to a slight extent,' he said, grinning widely. 'But the extent is insufficient.'

'I can still recognize the manipulation attempt,' he shrugged. 'Oddly enough, I even appreciate it. It is most skillful.'

'I am not trying to manipulate you,' she pleaded.

'Not in the definition sense, that you wish me to come to harm as a result,' Szayel nodded. 'But you are now, as you have been from the very beginning, doing all in your power to control the monster that you see I am.'

_This will not do. It will not do at all._

'You are not a monster,' Unohana said, softly, the look on her features assuring him that she thoroughly believed her own words. 'And you can prove that you are not,' she followed, her earnest kindness not only painfully missing the point, and all targets that it strove to reach, but actually heading into the completely wrong direction. 'You can actively prevent yourself from being one, and simply dwelling on the dark side of your nature – put a stop to this,' she asked, 'end it all before it even begins…'

'How do you propose I do that, pray tell?' he bravely asked, crossing his arms over his chest and tapping his left foot. 'Go to Aizen-sama and tell him that I will not continue with my experiment because _you_ have moral objections to it? Or do you expect me to shrug off the recognition that I've just been granted, go and report that I have realized I was, in fact wrong, that the reiatsu types are explosively incompatible? Then, if I am still in walking conditions, walk away from the past six months of work feeling…'

He struggled for the word, and gracefully waved his hands, as if it had been floating about him, and he'd been attempting to catch it.

'Ah,' he explained, merrily clapping his hands, 'moral satisfaction! How well do you think that particular approach will go with Aizen, Re-chan?' he beamed. 'You are an emotionally bright person, try to _feel _that particular encounter through.'

'You could…' she uncertainly began, stopping herself at the undeniable realization that Szayel Aporro was correct; for a moment, the shadows in her eyes showed that she acknowledged that now, that Aizen had decided to fully take the project under his wing, there was little backtracking possible, but that she would still have liked the Octava to fight the battle on her behalf.

'No, I could not,' he said, dryly.

She sustained his glance for a moment, then looked away, her thoughts burning in her eyes.

'There must be something you can tell him.' Unohana whispered. 'I am sure we can think of a solution. I am sure _you_ can think of one…'

'This is not my domain,' the Arrancar briskly refuted, avoiding the thinly laid trap without hesitation.

And still, he noted, with growing confusion, the hopeful note in her eyes refused to vanish.

'What if,' she feverishly asked, 'what if you would not have to tell him that you were wrong, but that simply further evidence has shown the reiatsu types to be incompatible? You would not have to do anything but claim circumstances you cannot control for…'

'In order for new evidence to surface, experiments would have to be performed,' Szayel Aporro said. 'I cannot see how that is aligned with your personal objections…'

Unohana once more met his glance, her eyes filled with bitter determination; she needed to say little else.

'I see,' Szayel noted.

She searched for her next words at length, her features depicting a bewildering palette of emotion – from fear, to shame to utter, boundless despair.

'If you promise me…' the woman said, '_me,' _she repeated, in a barely audible whisper, 'that, regardless of what your experiments will show, you will tell Aizen that his hybrids cannot be obtained by _natural _ means…If you promise me that,' Unohana continued, drowning in herself, 'then I shall attempt to assist you…'

She could not finish, but she did not need to.

'Anything for the just cause, eh, Re-chan,' the Arrancar noted; he'd sounded insanely amused, but his eyes had remained dull. 'See, this is why I have so little patience for manifest morality,' the Octava added. 'Unlike my own consequence free hobby, morality always seems to be relative.'

_Even with you,_ he thought.

'Can you make the promise?' Unohana whispered, staggering, but not standing down in the wake of the blow. 'I cannot let this come to pass, and I cannot shift this burden to some unfortunate other – if it is live genetic material that you require, then I shall contribute it. You do not need to take this to the point where you actually create a…a living…_thing_…' she managed, though the word abomination had clearly been on her mind. 'Your mental satisfaction does not demand _that. _You simply need to know if this is feasible; I will concede to in vitro testing, and I swear I will do nothing to stand in your way from now on. I am sure,' she said, the certainty in her voice making him bite his lower lip in frustration, 'that you do not wish to harm me…'

'Given the range of possibilities I have been given, reverting to in-vitro now is akin to requesting that I consider donating my liver to charity,' the Arrancar calmly said.

'Do you not consider what you are, in turn, asking of me?' she questioned, anger rising in her eyes.

'And we have, yet again, returned to a very unhelpful reference to _asking_,' Szayel Aporro replied.

Though he could sense she was growing dangerously furious, the Arrancar gracefully turned away, and sat at his work table, leaning his elbows atop it and looking at her over the rims of his mask.

'Can you…' the Shinigami insisted; the sensation of sharp pain returned to the center of his chest – judging by the look in her eyes, some of it must have slipped over his features as well, for she'd taken a hopeful half step forward. 'Help me, Szayel Aporro…'

'This conversation is moot,' he sighed, leaning over and reaching for the silent alarm under his table top. He hesitated before pressing it, but only for half a second. 'A decision has been taken,' he shrugged, noting that the woman had frozen in shock at hearing the click of the button. 'Neither of us can alter it.'

'Why?' Unohana asked, shaking her head. 'Why would you allow him to do this to me? Why do you allow him to do this to you? Paths of resistance are always available; you could simply choose to take one and spare all of us this madness.'

'You _really_ do not understand,' Szayel Aporro said, for a moment giving the awkward impression that he was only speaking to himself.

The door behind her hissed open, but she did not turn around, nor did the Arrancar shift his glance away from hers.

'He is doing nothing to _me,_ Re-chan,' Szayel Aporro said, speaking nothing but the unadulterated truth. 'Just like everyone else, Aizen-sama is simply an enabler.'

Her hand flew to her hip, but the Octava did neither flinched at the sight of the drawn blade, nor at the furious tide of her energy. Instead, he softly tilted his head to the side, enticing her to look behind – Unohana hesitated, biting her lower lip, but then slowly turned her head and looked over her shoulder. No more than a glimpse was needed; she straightened, and let out a deep hot breath, closing her eyes as if her eyelids could cancel the image of the Exequias' swords pointed at Isane's unarmed figure.

There was one more moment of hesitation, and, for all his lack of empathy, Szayel Aporro could very accurately guess what must have been going through the Shinigami's mind. She must have known she was fast enough to kill one of the three Exequias before her lieutenant would come to harm. One, but not all.

Then, Szayel thought, as Unohana shifted her glance to him, if Isane's life was forfeit, she could at least do the maximum allowable damage.

_Me,_ Szayel thought, feeling no fear. Not because he thought his own reiatsu or speed could ever compete with Unohana's, but because in this aspect, as in all others, the world was a predictable, neat string of causality.

'And what next?' he dreamily queried. 'What will happen after you do temporarily kill me, Re-chan?'

He watched as implied consequence clouded her thoughts and scaffolds, swords and blood, under the torn banner of the 4th drifted before her eyes. Oddly enough, the Octava felt something he could identify as regret; he had not meant to threaten, and he'd not meant to summon implications. Unohana had done it all on her own.

'Do you truly never wish that you could stop wondering that, and simply _act_?' he whispered.

Unohana slipped Minazuki back in his scabbard; behind her, Kotetsu Isane hid her face in her palms and began to weep quietly.

The Shinigami straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.

'The most saddening part of this,' Unohana said, dryly, 'is that I have no doubt that you do, indeed, love me.'

He sustained her glance for a moment longer.

'That too is without consequence,' Szayel Aporro responded, feeling that there was no need to add anything else.


	18. Inroads

Good evening, and thank you for reading and commenting - will pick up on responding to comments tonight! :)

You certainly did not see this one coming - Thank IVI for the evil inspiration, and for the most unexpected pairing in history.

Where - you will be amazed at what we dared do next ;)

* * *

'Please, speak to me,' she whispered, at long length.

Dusk painted the walls into gold, but as the fading light blurred and spread shadows, it also rendered them deeper and darker. The contours of Stark's face - cold, slightly slanted blue eyes, tall cheekbones, aquiline nose and thin, straight lips...the cutting line of fangs around his neck... - seemed to grow sharper as night approached. He still stood by the side of the half open door, leaning heavily on the frame, and looking outside, as he had from the moment when they had been left alone together.

The Arrancar looked over his shoulder, and despite the fact that his glance remained dreamy and coldly distant, Unohana stiffened as if she'd been lashed.

'What would you like me to say?' he asked, sounding terribly tired.

'Do you...' she began, clasping her fingers in her lap and lowering her glance as her voice broke. 'Do you intend to harm me?' Unohana finished, in a single breath.

'No,' Stark answered, without pause and without hesitation. 'I doubt Szayel Aporro would be pleased if I were to damage his _carrier_.'

The woman breathed out sharply.

'I apologise,' he oddly and unexpectedly said. 'That was low and thoroughly undeserved.'

The aftermath of the blow had not faded, however, and she'd barely registered his retraction while the insult still worked its way through the fabric of her dignity; she'd shifted her glance and was still looking away when Stark finally approached, and sat, legs crossed, on the opposite side of the low tea table. The Arrancar did not press, and stayed silent until Unohana finally looked up, acknowledging that she'd heard him.

'I apologise,' he repeated.

Unohana nodded rapidly, not knowing whether she'd done it to show that she had believed the apology, or simply to put the subject behind them as fast as possible. Stark sighed.

'What would you like me to say?' he asked, in a tentatively kinder tone.

'I know so very little about you,' the woman whispered, trying to keep her voice under control, but only managing to keep it from outright trembling. 'I only had a few hours' notice; I did not have time to make any inquiries before...this.'

_Whatever new depth of hell this is,_ she thought to say.

'Isane, my lieutenant...said that she had heard...'Unohana began, her thoughts pouring out in a single cut off breath, 'that you are the only one who has not done a decimation in their division. I...That is all I know about you; freedom of movement and information is very restricted. Perhaps this could mean that you are different than the others...'

'I would not jump to too many conclusions based on that fact alone,' Stark said, with a small frown, which was nonetheless enough to make her blood freeze. The emotion must have shown on her features - the Arrancar drew a deep breath, and lowered his glance, pressing his index and middle finger to his forehead. 'I have no intention of harming you, Unohana Retsu,' he plainly said. 'I have no intention of humiliating you, either.'

'Then why did you accept this?' she briskly questioned, shaking her head in disbelief, then understanding her words might have been read as provocation, and lowering her glance. She suddenly felt furious - a welcome relief from the fear, but one that would not take her far. Honesty was ill advised under the circumstances, her senses screamed, and yet, the question, the veiled accusation, had formed and willed itself out on its own, and she felt better for having spoken the words. 'Surely,' she continued, despite herself, 'you must know that if this task is to be accomplished, it will not come to pass without either harm or humiliation...'

'I did not accept, _per se,'_ Stark answered; lightning crossed his glance as their eyes met. 'If I may be so bold, if this is what the glorious cause requires of me, I would sincerely rather masturbate into a container.'

She recoiled; not at the harsh words, but at the fact that she could sense they were thoroughly honest.

_He is unwilling_, Unohana thought, impossibly feeling both relief and utter terror at the realisation. The tone of his voice, the look in his eyes...

_He does not want to be here more than I do._

Stark looked away.

'Gods,' she whispered.

_Am I expected to..._

'I do not think that there are any,' he awkwardly said.

'I am sincerely beginning to wonder.' Unonaha responded; Stark looked her way, and offered a crooked smile. He took one more deep breath, visibly composing himself and his stiff shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. There was no threat of violence in his posture, and though the fact that an immediate danger had passed spread deceiving ease though her entire body, she tasted bile.

'I do not understand,' she said, softly. 'I would have assumed Szayel Aporro would have chosen someone who would have less hesitations.'

'There are many things at play here,' Stark shrugged; though his eyes were still half closed, she could tell she was being watched with pointed attention. 'There is the matter of who Szayel Aporro wants to get, and whom he can get. While not being scientifically inclined, I would have started with a bit of a half way experiment before going full length - Gin or Tousen, or Aizen-sama himself would have made for a better starting point. I am,' he followed, 'ill fitting for this from a large number of perspectives...'

'I would humbly think he might have wanted to find someone more compatible and certainly someone more...whole. However, I believe I might have created a small debt with Szayel Aporro,' Stark continued, with an unpleasant, cold undertone, 'and he is a rather good collector.'

'That he is,' she agreed, with a sigh.

Stark shifted positions minutely, his stance expressing a hint of doubt; for a moment, she felt as if she had been facing an examination, and prepared herself by holding her breath.

'For whatever it is worth,' he said, attentively watching her features, 'you were not his first choice.'

'I have my doubts,' Unohana responded, with a small frown of surprise. 'I too,' she continued, biting her lower lip, 'might have worked up a small debt with Szayel Aporro. Besides, I was the one who insisted against masturbation into a container,' she added, sensing a small hint of satisfaction at the fact that he clearly had not expected her to speak as openly as he had. 'I thought that having no loose genetic matter on hand would prevent Szayel Aporro from inseminating some unwilling recipient at a moment's notice. I think I know him well enough by now to guess that this is his way of saying one should be careful what one wishes for.'

The Arrancar shook his head. 'His sadism does not manifest in this way,' he refuted. 'Besides, Unohana Retsu, if this had been intended as a form of punishment on Szayel's behalf, I would not be here and whomever was here in my stead, would not be speaking to you.'

'Would there be many willing to...' she asked, her voice once more trembling.

'Force themselves on a woman?' Stark asked back. 'Of course. Especially one in your position,' he said, dryly. She had expected that the implied threat, and the fact that she felt she had paled at the response would give him some sort of satisfaction, yet his gaze simply remained distant. 'I should guess many already have, without Szayel's explicit consent or supervision. I think presumption of innocence can be safely waived in our case - there is a reason for which _we_ are what we are.'

'You do not seem...,' Unohana began, wondering whether he'd be as quick to dismiss the hopeful supposition as he had the first time around. Stark stood, not hurrying to respond and visibly distancing himself from both her and her words.

'The kind of creature who would take advantage of any means of hurting an indiscriminate Shinigami?' he asked, in a voice she could not quite read; he gazed out the window for a few long seconds, his sharp features rusting in the colour of dusk. 'I think I may have left the impression that I was,' Stark whispered, mostly to himself - the honest pain of the pronouncement struck her, making both fear and anger waver for a mere instant.

'You have done well in keeping your division together,' he said, after a moment's pause. 'You've been working well with Szayel Aporro, but at no time has the notion that you've maintained your status amid your people faded. It is his personality, one would assume; he asserts no leadership because he is simply...'

'Not interested,' she finished for him; Stark looked her way and nodded.

'He can be wantonly cruel when he has a reason, but he will never expand energy on doing things he thinks are useless; Aizen's actions have given him more than a reasonable amount of dead bodies to hack at, and there was no reason to create more. Thus, outwardly,' he followed, not paying attention to her pained grimace, 'you are the only one of the captains who not only has done an excellent job of keeping her division together, which your people should find commendable, but you have also openly flaunted that you are working with the resistance.'

It was her turn to nod, and she continued to questioningly glance at the Arrancar although he had returned to staring out the window. His entire attitude, she thought, the way in which he spoke, and the way in which he seemed to analyse the situation, were strikingly neutral. There had been no vibration of resentment in his voice when he'd spoken of the resistance, as if the movement had not concerned him in the slightest, and more pointedly, there had been no hint of passion for Aizen's cause.

'You have quite the reputation, Unohana Retsu,' Stark said, finally looking over his shoulder. 'It needs to be brought down.'

She shook her head, somewhat guessing where he was leading, but unsure if she could believe him.

'Think of how this looks to the outside world,' Stark continued. 'You came here of your own free will and with no visible guard...'

'They are holding my Isane...' Unohana furiously protested.

'They are holding your entire division,' the Arrancar said, with a strange and disconcerting inkling of genuine kindness. 'But very few truly understand that. As you yourself have pointed, freedom of movement and freedom of information are very restricted.'

It was her turn to shift her glance, and she pressed her hand on top of her stomach.

'There have been no decimations at the 13th,' Stark awkwardly and reluctantly said. 'To the outer world, this seems to imply that Ukitake Jushiro has not suffered.'

She looked up in surprise at the precision of the parallel he'd drawn - indeed, she thought, to the outer world, even to his own division, it seemed like Ukitake had not suffered, and some resented him so much that they had attempted to kill him.

_Does he know...?_ she wondered, trying but failing to keep her breath even; the Arrancar frowned slightly at her expression, but clearly misread it.

'I assure you,' Stark continued - and this time, the satisfaction in his voice was undeniable and blood curling, '_he_ has suffered. But only he and I know that. You have come here of your own free will, and with no guard,' the Arrancar reiterated, his voice returning to its neutral ring. 'You are under no guard, and you will stay here of your own free will for a week, playing house with the _Primera_. You will leave with no marking of violence upon your person, and you will return here, again of your own free will next month, at the height of your menstrual cycle. What does this sound like to you, Unohana Retsu?'

She did not need to answer - her tiny clenched hands spoke well enough.

'Yes,' Stark said. 'Inoue Orihime should spring to mind. Ulquiorra and Aizen never tire of this particular tactic.' he gently concluded. 'Do you suppose there is anything to drink?' he asked, the question so disjointed from the rest of his words that, for a moment, she had the strange sensation that he'd been trying to distract her from something that was too painful to face head on. He succeeded.

'I have not looked around,' she answered, mechanically, then shifted, with the intention of getting up. 'I suppose there should be a tea room, I shall...'

'I mean _drink,_' he said, the amused glimmer in his eyes making him strikingly and painfully resemble Kyoraku. 'I think we both could use one.' he added, drawing a deep breath, and giving her a tired, but honest smile.

She breathed out, with a sound that was more akin to a whimper, but lowered her glance and nodded in surrender to the offer. She once more started to get up, but the hasty wave of his fingers stopped her short.

'Let me explore,' he offered. 'I am already on my feet.'

He strode by, heading towards the back of the room, and, as he passed, Unohana took in not only the fact that he was very tall, but also the fact that the slight crookedness in his shoulders rendered his walking posture naturally defensive.

_This man is very tired,_ she found herself thinking. _And_ _he's been tired for a very long time._

The sensation strangely reminded her of Ukitake; she shook the idea away, discovering that she did not truly wish to dwell on the notion. She simply closed her eyes, listening to the delicate hiss of Shouji panels slipping open, then, shut, and feeling oddly as if the entire world had ground to a halt.

'You will probably not be surprised to learn that this place has only one bedroom,' Stark remarked, dropping back down on the side of the tea table, an elongated, dusty bottle in his left hand, and a pair of frail looking, long stemmed glasses in his right hand. 'The considerate Hell Butterfly is quite considerate - he actually left a good vintage red wine for me.'

He frowned at her surprised expression, and looked at the glasses - then, at her, in open query.

'Would you prefer something else?' he asked; by the tone of his voice, she guessed he would only be offended at a positive reply. Unohana smiled shyly, but took the chance.

'I will taste your drink,' she said, with a small shrug. 'But I would much rather stick to the tea. Is there a tea room?'

'Yes, I believe so,' he answered, rewarding her gamble by not taking offence. 'You will have to make it yourself, though. I cannot make tea _your way_', Stark added, in a tentative voice. He put the glasses down, and began uncorking the bottle. 'To be honest, I could have learned, but I truthfully don't like it when it's made _your way._' the Arrancar finished, leaving her to determine whether his grimace was due to his struggle with the bottle's cork or to some powerful and principled hatred against age old tea making traditions. 'It's thick, somehow.' he ended.

The bottle came open with a dry pop.

Unohana chuckled.

'I suppose it is different,' she conceded, with a tiny, unintended bow.

Stark filled his glass almost to the rim, and motioned to fill hers but stopped in mid motion.

'Have you ever had red wine?' he asked.

Unohana shook her head in denial.

'Ah, then...' he said, falling entrenched with her glass the very same moment.

He poured an insignificant quantity of ruby red liquid into the glass, then spun and tilted it so that the liquid would coat its inner side - up to the rim, but not quite.

'This is to remove all dust residue,' he said, swiftly standing and flinging the glass' contents out of the window. 'A wine glass must taste of nothing but the wine it holds.'

Stark sat back down, and filled her glass to a quarter of its capacity before placing it on the table and pushing it towards her, for only a few inches.

Unohana accepted the offer, and picked up the frail, long stemmed glass, glancing at it with open curiosity. The liquid within glowed in the dimming light, and though it ran like water, it had the colour of rubies and the consistency of fresh blood.

'Spin it,' he said. 'Feel its weight and smell it before you taste - it should smell of nature, and earth, and leaves, and sun, and hard work rewarded by peace... Once, long ago, I had faith that this is the blood of a God who is unknown to you. It matters little,' he said, softly, when she looked up in open query. 'We are both here, and _He_ is nowhere in sight.'

She did not understand, but heeded his advice and spun the glass, breathing in the smell; though it did not remind her of nature, or leaves, or earth, the smell was fresh, somewhat bitter, but new and enticing.

She lifted the glass to her lips, but stopped as she noted the Arrancar was staring into his own glass, and taking in the spin of darkness and light that the fluid within it seemed to seamlessly blend.

'I may have left the impression that I would take advantage of any opportunity of harming an indiscriminate Shinigami.' Stark said. 'I even believed that impression myself for a while - I thought I would feel entitled to take revenge on your kind in any way that was offered; theft, rape and murder being but a droplet of the harm _you_ caused, in your righteousness...'

They frowned at the same time, but at different things, Unohana understood.

'You say you know little about me,' Stark said. 'I know one thing about you, and it is enough. You, Unohana Retsu, are the oldest standing Captain, now that Yamamoto is gone. You were second only to him, and, in your time as captain, you presided over unjust killing and untold suffering, taking it all in your stride. That knowledge should be relieving - I should think nothing of either harming or humiliating you. But I do,' he said, looking up and meeting her frightened gaze.

'I do,' Stark said. 'And you will never understand how refreshing, how utterly relieving it is that I look upon you, knowing the one thing I know and standing in a position that allows you no retaliation...and still...'

'Feel no desire to either harm or humiliate,' she breathed, setting the glass down with shaky fingers.

'I am entitled to harm and humiliate,' Stark said, accepting her completion and yet sounding as if he had not heard it. 'I am enabled to harm and humiliate _you_, but I have no inner desire to do so, and this,' he whispered, 'this brings me more joy than you could ever imagine. That _I,_ hollow, and bleak and evil as I am, can still look upon a small woman under threat of sexual violence, and see neither Yamamoto's legacy nor an indiscriminate Shinigami. I simply see a small woman, in an impossible position,' he whispered. 'I thought I had lost the ability of doing that. I am happy to discover that I have not. Forgive me,' he tiredly smiled. 'That is probably more speaking than you had expected.'

She softly shook her head in denial.

_Vasto Lorde,_ Unohana distantly thought. _A soul conglomerate which devoured other souls_. _The ultimate incarnation of Hollow evil..._

'Now then,' Stark said, his voice turning warmer. 'What shall we drink to?'

He slightly lifted his glass, and she mechanically followed suit.

'I suggest a sudden onset of severe erectile dysfunction,' the Arrancar said, mischievously arching an eyebrow, and though her heart was heavy, she honestly laughed, and looked back at him with a tiny amount of malice.

'I thought any man would rather die than speak of _that_,' Unohana responded; she took a small sip of the drink, continuing to look at him over the glass' rim.

'I am confident enough in my manhood to take it on the chin,' he shrugged. 'And I certainly have no qualms with saying it to Szayel Aporro.'

'The only problem with _that_ is that he would probably offer to fix it in any unimaginable number of ways,' she sighed; the Arrancar cringed, and defensively lifted his fingers, in sign that he did not wish to dwell on the thought.

She put the glass down, and returned to clutching her fingers in her lap. Her stomach turned violently at the thoughts that had begun whirring through her mind, and the unknown fear returned, clawing at her heart.

'That is kind of you,' Unohana whispered. 'But for how long do you think that pretence will keep?'

'I think he will believe me for a few months,' Stark answered, not knowing where she was leading.

'And then?' she asked.

The Arrancar frowned.

'What will happen when the pretence...'

Her voice faded, and the courage with which she'd been looking him in the eyes vanished; she once more lowered her glance.

'They can do precious little to me; Szayel will whine and press the issue, but he can do little else. If he chooses to take my _problem _to either Ulquiorra or Aizen, I will simply point out that my sex is even less keen on order and discipline than I am.' Stark responded. 'And one would hope that they cannot punish you if I fail to deliver.'

'That is not guaranteed,' she said. 'There are no rules here. Not anymore. How far we have fallen...'

She swallowed dry and forced her fingers straight, then looked at them as if they had belonged to someone else.

'How odd,' she said, in a soft voice. 'How odd it is that sometimes the heart feels heavier without fear and anger to shield it...'

Stark grimaced in a way that she could not quite place, but she only sustained his glance for a split second.

'I came here fearing violence,' Unohana followed, 'but in a sense, also feeling _freed_ by the immediate threat. This, I thought, would be perpetrated against me, not with me; I would submit to whatever came and loathe them all, but not myself. You are, indeed, most kind - your offer...'

'Changes nothing for you,' he said, biting his lower lip. 'You will still have to go through this, sooner or later.'

She nodded. 'You could perhaps buy me a few months, but in the end, they would simply replace you with someone who does intend to...harm and humiliate. Szayel Aporro does not leave things unfinished, he...' Unohana forced herself to say.

She left her other thoughts unspoken, not finding the strength to utter them out loud.

'I cannot do...this,' she pleadingly whispered, sensing that the Arrancar was taken aback, and fearing to look up. 'I have no strength, and I...'

Her voice broke once more, and she drank her entire glass in a single breath.

'I have no talent for pretence,' Unohana said, simply.

'It would have been far easier on you if you'd been a victim,' Stark understood - she met his glance, feeling surprise at the fact that his voice had remained neutral. She would have expected at least a fraction of the disgust for herself that she felt, at having thought what she did not dare say, but he'd guessed well enough. 'But since I am not one who will free you of the choice, you do have to choose - it is either me or a worse fate. After you heard me speak slightly too much, you'd rather it was me, and that it was over.'

Unohana did not even have the strength to nod.

'This will not work,' she began speaking rapidly, and standing, in the flurry of her white, unmarked haori. She suddenly wished to flee - from him, from this place, and mostly from herself. 'The reiatsu types cannot cross, naturally, and for however much Szayel Aporro thinks he can repress my immune system for long enough for conception to occur, this is _simply_ not the case...'

'I think Aizen understands that,' Stark said.

'But Szayel Aporro does not,' she responded, in a trembling voice. 'And whether he intends this as punishment, or he simply wants to test his genetic markers, he will not stop until he is genuinely convinced that it does not work, while Aizen will allow him to continue until I, or another unfortunate is broken...,' she whispered, once more, hoping against hope that he would say nothing.

He did not. She was grateful for the darkness which had crept inside the room, for it allowed her to scrutinise him at ease; she could no longer distinguish his features, but she knew that he'd been gazing at her as well.

'You must think me a shameless, fallen woman,' she breathed, at long length, when the silence began growing physical in consistency.

She could still not see his face, but the movement of his shadow seemed to indicate that he'd glanced down at the glasses before him.

'I think I know why Szayel Aporro left me the wine,' he answered; after a second's hesitation, he refilled her glass, the gesture meant as an invitation which she tiredly accepted. Unohana sat back down by the side of the tea table, and reached for the glass, without truly seeing it. She closed her eyes, and tears streamed down her cheek, knotting under her chin.

_He cannot see me_, she thought. _It doesn't matter, he cannot see..._

She awaited, with her eyes closed and her fingers of both hands entwined over the glass' frail stem. His breath was regular, and soft, and though she could not read his mood, the sound, as a reminder of his presence and of the fact that perhaps she was not alone in the insanity was almost soothing.

Then, unexpectedly, the man reached for her shoulder and awkwardly caressed it with the back of his hand; the touch lasted little, and Stark withdrew his fingers before she could truly grasp if the motion had been a sign of consent.

'Not tonight,' Unohana heard herself whisper.

'No,' Stark responded. 'Not tonight.'

* * *

Up Next - It is always nice to talk things over. And Stark and Unohana, well...they have a lot to speak about.


	19. Sharp Corners

Hello, hello, or as they say in Helsinki - Moi-moi!

We are happy you are happy, and we thank you for the kind words over the previous chapter; a long one ahead, but then, again, lots to talk about...

In chapter 18 -

Where - we have fun while coping with...everything, I guess? Not so much fun, actually...

* * *

She set the glass on the table, then sat on her knees on the opposite him, eyeing him with mild curiosity.

Stark hoisted himself on his elbow, feeling his head was heavy and the back of his neck was absolutely stiff; for a moment, he did not remember just how the situation had come about, and since it was not his first time sleeping on a hard surface, he did not think that a single night on a hard floor should have caused him such pain. Then, on his way up, he took note of the empty bottle of wine, and remembered.

'Apologies,' he sighed, pointlessly attempting to straighten his tunic, and guessing he was not looking particularly fresh.

The woman pushed the glass forth, bowing slightly as she did. She had changed from her Shinigami uniform and was wearing a light, pale blue kimono; in full daylight, her skin was beautifully smooth, and, he noted that her eyes were blue, wide and clear as well.

He took the glass without question – his mouth was so dry that anything will have done. The taste of the drink surprised him; it was salty and somewhat alcoholised as well, but it tasted surprisingly refreshing.

'Tomato juice?' he guessed.

'Indeed,' Unohana Retsu nodded. 'Some celery juice as well for fibre, salt to retain fluids, and a drop of new alcohol to help your body fight the effects of the old one.'

'I apologise,' he said, putting the glass down, but still holding on to it. The sensation of cold between his fingers was pleasant. 'I had not meant to…'

'That is alright,' she said, with another tiny bow. 'I did not pass an easy night either.'

Stark finished the drink and sat the glass back down, then looked at his hands.

'I hope I did not snore, at least,' he off-handedly said, not expecting her to even crack a smile – she did, however.

'Ever so lightly,' the woman said, still looking down at her hands.

'I apologise again,' Stark answered, then lingered at a loss for words. 'This…' he added, indicating the glass, 'is most considerate of you. You had no obligation…'

'I am a healer,' she offered. 'Duty of care.'

The Arrancar lowered his glance.

'Of course,' he said – the woman lowered her glance in turn, and remained silent.

Stark felt his forehead, finding it sticky with sweat, then rubbed his cheek, conceding that perhaps he needed a wash _and_ a shave. He felt slightly ashamed of himself, for the first time considering the position of the woman before him – of all the things that she would have to endure, sooner or later, and of the fact that if she felt she would have to become intimate with a man she did not care for…a Hollow…the least that she could ask for was that he might not be unwashed and unshaved.

'I will go clean myself,' he sighed. The Shinigami smiled, as if she had expected just that, and knitted her hands in her lap.

'I have warmed water for you,' Unohana said, starting to her feet. 'When you are done, if you wish…if you can stomach,' she corrected, 'food, breakfast is ready too.'

His stomach churned audibly, and Stark cringed.

'That may have been a wasted effort,' the woman noted, walking away.

Stark washed and shaved, going through the motions as if neither his hands, nor the rest of his body had been truly his – his fingers trembled uncontrollably, and he all but cut himself twice. The absence of his reiatsu, brought on by a black band Szayel Aporro had placed on his wrist, made everything far more difficult than he expected or remembered, and despite the fact that his mouth no longer felt dry, and he was experiencing surprisingly little nausea, the burning nugget of pain that had lodged in the back of his skull showed no signs of abating, no matter how many times he swathed his face in cold water.

Still, the endless, tiny complications kept all other thoughts and feelings silent, and he felt grateful for the fact that the weight on his brow kept him oblivious to the weight on his chest; the Primera debated with himself for a moment before putting his tunic back on, feeling regretful that he had not had sufficient foresight to bring a second set of clothes.

He made his way to the porch, still staggering a little, and winced in true pain as soon as he emerged into the bright sunlight. Some days, he reckoned with a sigh, would decidedly have benefitted from some soothingly overcast skies and perhaps just a tiny hint of cold wind. No such luck here.

Unohana smiled, sensing his predicament, and the man shrugged, inwardly admitting that there was no better punishment for the wicked than the ones they administered to themselves. He sat away from her, on the edge of the porch, and hid his face in his hands. The mere hinted scent of food made his stomach turn.

'If I may…' she began, softly – even the whisper was strong enough to startle, and he grudgingly lifted his face from his hands, to look at her and silently request to be left in peace. The look on her features made his glance mellow, however; she looked genuinely concerned, and though she'd shifted as soon as he'd looked her way, still betraying the fear and discomfort she must have felt during the night, she seemed far more composed than she had been on the previous eve.

'Perhaps you should return to sleep,' Unohana followed, when Stark's scowl had receded enough for her to guess the advice would not be regarded as ill-intended. If anything, he guessed, his hangover was perhaps fortuitous for them both, since it gave her a more familiar focus as well. 'Nothing but rest can truly help you now.'

'Yes, going back to sleep is indeed my preferred response to everything,' Stark off-handedly answered. 'I keep hoping that if I hibernate for long enough, the world will miraculously change before I awake. I keep trying, never seems to happen, and I am beginning to suspect that the individual who said night is a good advisor was as wrong as the one who said that the truth lies at the bottom of a bottle of wine somewhere…'

She surprised with a mischievous smile.

'And you are, I guess, proceeding to finding the truth by process of elimination,' she nodded.

Stark pressed his fingers to his temple.

'In the cruel light of morning, the strategy does not sound or look particularly intelligent, I gather.'

'It is not me that you are running from, though,' Unohana said, gently; the words had not truly been a question. He had nonetheless perceived it as one – he forced himself to focus on the woman's figure and actually _see_ her. So far, he'd felt her as if she had been drifting far away on the edges of his consciousness, a shadow that he was uneager to let in.

He wondered about her willingness to enter.

'No,' Stark answered, at length. 'It is not you I am running away from. Am I that obvious?' he asked, forcing himself to keep looking at her.

Somehow, upon closer inspection, Unohana looked like nothing he had imagined she would – he would have thought that some sign of her age would show from up close, or that her eyes or her lips would carry some harsh line, some reminder of who she was…who she had been…

The woman before him, with her delicate bearing, and her wide, clear eyes, bore no resemblance to the image he'd created for himself, and, in the absence of her uniform, the Shinigami was all but impossible to see.

A welcome reprieve, but one that mattered little now, Stark thought. That battle felt as if it had been temporarily won.

'I hope you do not think I am presumptuous for speaking so freely,' she said. 'It is just that…You sound so tired.'

'I am,' Stark said, simply. 'Overly so. And poorer for purpose,' he added, shifting his glance away from hers.

'I was not entirely honest with you, last night,' Stark continued, pushing his still wet hair away from his forehead. 'I said that I did not accept this task, per se – I did not outright refuse it, either. Not because I had any intention of harming you; that part continues to be true.'

He saw her nod, and nodded in his turn.

'Exterior circumstances have recently rendered me…not particularly keen on New Central meetings,' he said. 'This…_retreat…' _the Arrancar followed, 'was an unexpected alternative to a week long nap.' Stark said. 'I apologise once more,' he reiterated. 'My initial intent was rudely ignoring you for the duration, and thoroughly pursuing my search for truth...'

'At the bottom of every available bottle?' Unohana reproachfully inquired.

'Only red wine bottles,' Stark corrected, with a shrug. 'No such claim was made about white. It used to work once, I recall,' the Primera whispered. 'Do not be concerned, though, Unohana Retsu. I have noted your predicament, and I shall try to behave. Or at the very least, not snore while I misbehave.'

She did not smile this time, and for some odd reason, he took note of it. 'I just seem to make it worse with everything that I say, do I not?' the Arrancar queried, shaking his head.

Unohana pondered the question for a moment, then shook her head in denial.

'No,' she said, shyly. 'I just…I would be grateful it if you did behave.'

Stark nodded.

'The snoring did not bother that much,' Unohana encouragingly added, and, despite himself Stark thought she had a genuinely beautiful smile.

They spent a further few minutes in silence, and Stark noticed his hair had begun to dry; the headache had dulled, and the sensation of the morning breeze through his still damp hair was pleasant enough.

'May I ask what you are hiding from?' she inquired, at long length. He pretended not to have heard her; her voice had certainly been soft enough. The pressure of her expectation became too much soon enough, however, and he looked her way frowning slightly, yet again ready to demand his peace.

Unohana glanced back pleadingly. 'I have neither the intent, nor the possibility…'

_To harm you_, he eerily thought. _She thinks I fear her…_

'No, you do not,' Stark said, a bit more abruptly than he'd intended.

'I just made such a display of myself last night…' she followed, as if she had not heard him – she'd clenched her fingers in her lap, threatening to rip the fine silk of her kimono; it was the sight of her hands, and not the tone of her voice to give him pause.

'I did not think that,' he replied, for the first time seeking her glance and sustaining it of his own accord. She swallowed dry. 'I did not think that,' Stark repeated, smiling earnestly, and though his mouth once more felt bitter and dry, he managed to preserve the warmth in his eyes. Unohana did not look away; he sighed, pressing his fingers to his forehead, regretting his lapse but resisting the urge of apologizing once more. 'You are strained,' he said, instead. 'Understandably so. You do not need to reciprocate…'

'It is not that,' she said, looking down. 'Your…your silences seem so very heavy.' The woman brought herself to say.

'My jokes are worse,' the Primera answered, cracking a smile; she attempted to follow suit, but failed. The Arrancar hesitated for a further second, then drew a deep breath and climbed the three steps of the porch. He tiredly let himself fall a few feet away from her side, and leaned his head on the wall behind, acknowledging her brave attempts at conversation with a nod, but no more. Unohana gazed away in defeat.

'How will we do _this_?' she queried, in a whisper.

_How will we do this, if you give me no chance…_

He turned his face to the side and looked at her for a few long seconds, finding her frightened, and as desolately alone as he felt.

'What does everyone ever come to hide from, sooner or later?' Stark surrendered; she looked into his eyes with hopeful surprise, and the man struggled to smile. 'The one enemy that makes one so eager dig for the truth in all the strangest places?'

Unohana did not answer, but the bitter expression on her features let him to guess she had intuited the answer well enough.

_Myself_, he thought. _I'm running from myself._

'Did you imagine that your life had a purpose, Unohana Retsu?' he asked.

'Yes,' the woman responded. By the tone of her voice, Stark guessed that he must have stricken an unwilling target. He pressed, but softened his tone; not necessarily for her sake, but because his own voice was faltering.

'And after all _this_,' Stark said, bitterly forcing himself through the words, and lifting his gaze to hers, 'does it still have one?'

She breathed out heavily, and briefly looked aside, searching for her own answers.

'Yes,' Unohana replied, at long length – despite her hesitation, her response had sounded serene and decisive, and though she was no longer smiling, her eyes had remained clear of all storms.

'I see,' Stark said, biting his lower lip.

'Until recently, I imagined mine had one too; I thought the end of this war would see it coming closer.' he began, sounding so tired that the woman could not have mistaken his words for an attack or an expression of triumph.

'I thought that all this would give back some semblance of my old life, as I once knew it. That from whatever shards were left after your kin's passage, and three centuries of conscious existence in Hueco Mundo time would finally flow towards revenge, then, perhaps peace, then…something resembling a future.'

He did not look her way, because, he was assured, the entire sentiment would be alien and frightening to her – and, in a sense, Stark thought, though he'd considered speaking his thoughts out loud because of an odd sense of fairness towards her honest frailty on the previous night, and he'd hoped from some relief of his own, uttering them felt…

For a moment, he felt nothing.

Nothing at all.

The Primera covered his hollow hole with his bare right hand and breathed in deeply.

'I fear I have lost half of my soul and, with it, most of my sense of purpose,' he said. 'Perhaps all of it. There can be no half peace, nor future by half, and without those, even revenge by half tastes not bittersweet, but simply bitter. I can feel no anger at her, but remember no joy without her; I am trapped midway towards nothing, and _she_…'

Unohana had turned her head in surprise, her glance unwillingly moving not to cross his, but to his chest, and the darkness at its centre – whatever she'd heard, Stark thought, she'd immediately wondered if Hollow could feel anything like she had clearly imagined. It did not matter; even without the weight of her glance, the pain returned unbidden, descending along his spine and into his chest, with the slithering, insinuating sensation of a nest of serpents settling within his ribcage – he swiftly changed discourse.

'It is remarkable that you preserved your sense of purpose,' Stark said, softly – he caught her glance, and frowned in tired reproach. The woman moved her gaze away from his chest; her fingers offered a shy, apologetic movement.

'It was one of the very few things that were allowed to me,' Unohana answered, tilting her head to the side, and questioningly glancing back. He'd expected that his words had made little to no sense to her. In the end, the woman knew close to nothing about him, his history, or the less visually striking aspects of his Hollow make-up. Still, the look that her features had gathered gave the eerie impression that she did not precisely need to understand his words, and that, even though she found the mere existence of feelings surprising, she did not doubt them.

Perhaps, Stark thought, in the same way he could never truly grasp her words, on the previous night, but could still well enough feel she was suffering.

Perhaps, irony aside, pain, or rather the unwilling expression of it, was an universal constant as well.

'Maybe…' Unohana began, 'maybe, I feel that my sense of purpose is the one thing I do not think anyone can truly remove?'

He'd heard a different question, and frowned.

_Is it not the same for you?_

'No, not exactly,' the Arrancar answered; he wondered whether he should have clarified that his own sense of purpose did not come from without, but did not come from within either, yet renounced the idea quickly enough. He did not understand it well enough to rationalize it for himself, let alone explain it to someone else. 'Oh well,' Stark concluded, with a deep breath. 'Once one hears the details of victory, _any victory,_ it begins to sound surprisingly like defeat.'

Stark did not feel as if there was anything left to say.

'I am two thousand sixty years old,' the woman suddenly offered. 'I was married, once, when I was seventeen.'

He incredulously glanced at her for a moment, then burst out laughing without knowing why – the intervention could not have been more random…Nor, he told himself, could the topic switch, to any topic, have been more welcome. Unohana chuckled in turn, gracefully lifting her folded fingers to her lips.

'Of all the things I could have said,' she innocently shrugged, 'that was the only thing that had…'

'Nothing to do with anything,' Stark noted.

'Very good ground to start from,' she nodded – though she was still smiling, the expression on her features returned to being tentative. 'You said you knew little about me too, except that I was…'

She saw the swift ascent of the shadow in his eyes and did not continue. She did not need to, Stark remembered that part very well.

'I thought that perhaps you might find it easier if you knew something else, as well.' Unohana ended, lowering her glance and leaving him time to decide. She had an exquisite profile, Stark thought, and the image alone made him nod.

'Whirlwind romance, followed by elopement to Rugonkai?' he inquired, arching an eyebrow; it was her turn to incredulously stare back for a few seconds, and the warmth in her eyes returned.

'Hardly,' Unohana answered, with a minute apologetic shrug. 'We were promised when we were about nine. His family – well,' she corrected with a hesitation he found very telling, 'my family too, I presume, was one of the second rank of noble clans, but was nonetheless very highly placed. My parents were amid the lower tier of the same, but…'

'But you had the vastly superior reiatsu,' Stark finished for her. Her eyebrows furrowed questioningly.

'Yes,' she said, then fell quiet for a moment. 'I assume,' she picked up once more, and intuiting the source of his correct guess, 'that trade-offs of this sort exist in all worlds.'

'Indeed,' Stark answered, glancing away and swallowing dry.

'You disapprove?' Unohana questioned, her curiosity for his reply leading her to lean forward slightly.

_Yes, the man I was before I stopped midway disapproved,_ Stark thought.

The words rose unbidden in his mind, and strangely, the grip of the serpent's nest lessened. She did not know how to read his hesitation.

'You were not married?' she asked, then hastily recoiled. 'I apologise,' she quickly withdrew. 'I do not know whether you remember…'

'I remember the human life of my dominant soul,' Stark said, finding his voice had come out a bit more bland than he had thought it would; since the reptiles had rushed to tighten their coils, he'd expected for some reflex of anger to resound in his words. 'No, _I_,' he added, hardly resisting the urge of referring to himself in third person, 'was not married. Long string of serial monogamy, though,' he completed, with a shrug.

'Was it because you did not wish to…'

'I did,' he said, defensively lifting his palm to prevent her from pushing further, and she acquiesced with a swift bow. 'Were you happy, in your…arrangement?' Stark asked, in turn not overly pressing his disapproval. He perceived her smile as reward.

'Yes, we were,' Unohana answered simply. 'It was the custom that the young bride live under the supervision of her future in-laws as soon as she became physically mature; I guess you could consider it as safeguarding of guarantees, but in our case…'

'It assured that we grew up together. We read the same things, did the same things, always spoke and laughed with each other, so by the time that we both came of age, the fact that my parents insisted I complete my education outside the home of my future in-laws before the marriage contract came in effect was…a mild hindrance,' she laughed, blushing a little.

'I see,' Stark grinned. 'I see indeed,' he repeated, finding that his own mood was eased by her visible pleasure in recalling.

'In a sense, I think the experience of the separation served us well,' she followed. 'He came of a long string of diplomats, and his years of training were far longer than mine. I was without him for most of our first years; looking back, probably the longest time we continuously spent together was between the ages of eleven and fourteen.'

'I never resented it, though,' Unohana continued, after silently querying whether he was still interested, and accepting the Arrancar's nod as a response. 'It is sometimes in good fortune that the destiny that one's family intends for their offspring so well matches their nature.'

'In my experience, it is _rare_ good fortune,' Stark answered, with a little smirk.

'Not your good fortune?' she asked.

'Oh, no,' he rushed to deny. 'Certainly mine…'

An image of his mother's hands on the black and white keys of a piano stirred in his mind, only to be swiftly followed by the smell of some old tome's pages, and an eerie shadow of his Latin tutor's hands, which, oddly enough, he'd fancied claw-like and nightmare inspiring through most of his early childhood.

_Well I'll be,_ he inwardly smiled. _Who'd have known I'd think of her, just now…_

The Primera chuckled out loud, and looked at her through narrowed eyes.

'You are a very intelligent woman, Unohana Retsu,' he noted, without grudge.

She accepted the compliment with a slight inclination of her head.

'We have so many sharp corners to avoid, in between the two of us,' she whispered. 'By the way you spoke last night, and today, I gathered that…'

The Shinigami stole an uncertain glance at the hole in the center of his chest, then hastily looked away.

'I gathered that I am not the only one carrying scars,' the woman concluded, making him look away in turn. 'I, however, most often find that if one carries scars, one also carries good memories. It is just that sometimes, especially at times like this, the good memories tend to be illusive.'

'And thus warrant a small fishing expedition,' Stark grinned; she bowed her head, and mischievously grinned in return.

'Do you wish for me to withdraw?' the woman offered. Stark pondered for a moment, then shook his head.

'My good memories are not the only ones you are fishing for. I understand.' he said, simply – the words seemed to take her by surprise, and it took her a second to acquiesce. 'So, indeed, no,' the Primera picked up, his cheer slightly artificial, but certainly heartfelt. 'I was not unfortunate in my upbringing; it was not that I fitted my family's expectations, but rather that I think they had none – other than that I should not be ignorant, and the fact that I was endowed with slightly more curiosity than was at times comfortable saw to that.'

'It is a good trait,' Unohana nodded, her smile marred by a shadow.

'Did I touch on something unpleasant?' He asked.

'No, quite to the contrary,' she said, though the words had been uttered after some hesitation. 'It is just a true observation - Daisuke was also tremendously curious. When we were young, this had the tendency of translating into poking hornet's nests…which, in the end,' she admitted, her smile returning to full warmth, 'led him to early prowess in Shumpo.'

'A man fast headed for a career in politics, then, fast headed out of it?' Stark wryly observed, making her smile widen.

'Indeed,' she nodded, amused at the irony. 'That was the original intent - those certainly were interesting times for it; in the wake of the first kingdom wars, they…_we_,' she yet again tellingly corrected, 'were very well placed to smooth over some of the tensions of the rising new order. Rich enough to be influential but non-threatening to the major clans, and sufficiently well respected among the smaller ones…'

'Your position as a Shinigami could not have hindered,' the Primera said, arching an eyebrow.

'The Gotei was little but a vaguely connected band of security forces,' she responded, shaking her head. 'It did not even officially go by that name. There were plans…dreams, but…'

'Daisuke's father was still clan leader,' Unohana followed, 'and his was not a poor lead to follow; he was not a particularly adventurous individual,' she chuckled, with no ill-will. 'It was that when he poked a hornet's nest, he tended to do so from a safe distance, and make sure his protections were in place. He navigated a far less exciting path than either Daisuke or, well,' she admitted with a little shrug, '_I_ might have liked at the time…Since both of us had the somewhat foolish impression that heartfelt speeches weighed more than trade agreements.'

'It is a good position to share,' the Primera smiled.

'Growing up together is a good starting point for being passionate about the same things,' Unohana agreed. 'Despite some inner family tension, we were truly happy in our…_arrangement_,' she quipped; Stark shrugged, but gave her an apologetic grin.

'Why tension?' he asked. 'You do not need to elaborate, if it is _sharp_ to you,' Stark reminded.

'Not at all,' Unohana responded. 'It was one of the best times in my life. I am just unsure that my fishing expedition is bringing anything up for you.'

'If nothing else,' the Primera shrugged, 'I had a keen interest in politics in my turn; granted,' he conceded with a deep breath, 'I have a feeling that we would not see eye to eye on what it all your history led to, on a greater scheme, but…'

'Why wouldn't we? And why would we even need to…' she whispered, meeting his glance. 'You have won this war; you have no need to seek my agreement.'

'No, I do not,' Stark answered, not finding any satisfaction in the pained ripple in the woman's blue eyes. 'I do not seek your automatic submission either,' he smiled. 'I have no reason or right to gloat or cast shadow on your past thoughts and actions…or,' he reconsidered, looking away to hide the tension in his jaw, 'at least not on those you are now recounting. However,' the Primera said, 'we can seek agreement on one thing, which may help you in telling, and me in listening: winning a war, and the superiority of one army over another does not imply the superiority of a system over another. It simply implies one side had the bigger weapons.'

He knew she had heard something well different than what he had said, but the fact that after a moment of incredulous, tense pause, she had decisively nodded, gave him minute satisfaction over his wording.

'We can indeed agree on that,' Unohana said; she took a moment to collect herself. 'So, yes,' she reiterated, 'family tension…Daisuke and I thought that the attempts at reaching the Kuchiki clan…You know of them?' she asked – Stark nodded.

'Vaguely,' he shrugged. 'Castle in the clouds?' he guessed, making her chuckle.

'Yes,' Unohana nodded. 'Even more so then. We thought that attempts at reaching the Kuchiki and trying to get them to join the new, budding order, were either misguided in their means – because, Daisuke thought, there was little reason for the Kuchiki to descend into the trouble ridden world, even if it was only to enhance their wealth – or, I thought, simply misguided.'

'The clans below them would have been more accessible, and some smaller victories later, the Kuchiki would be forced to surrender to evidence,' she said.

'That doesn't sound overly idealistic to me,' Stark laughed.

'Well, it was,' she responded, 'in the sense that both I and Daisuke thought that the only way to approach a hornet's nest is to hit it as hard as you can, then hope for the best; we felt impatient for the transition to end, and for the new world to begin. The idea of the new order was so fascinating and generous – that the clan warfare could be stopped, that some visible order could be brought to the cycle, that the plusses would not constantly be trapped between the Shinigami…That we thought the Kuchiki should have immediately been fascinated by it. To us they had simply not been - thus, we felt, the family effort in attempting to…not even convince them, but gently buy them over, was wasted on simply prolonging the hiatus.'

'Oddly enough,' she followed, 'though they undertook discussions with the Kuchiki both together and separately, there was little to no tension between Daisuke and his father; they discussed, but though it was clear that I and him saw more eye to eye than him and his father did, which was perhaps explainable by the fact that we had been closer than the two of them had been…not by lack of affection,' she hurried to say, 'but for lack of time, and weight of ritual…Daisuke never disobeyed, or failed to follow the set line.'

'Did that irk you a tiny little?' the Primera asked, suddenly getting the very clear sense that the gentle blue eyes of the woman before him were still waters which ran very deep.

The mischievous grin returned. 'A tiny bit,' she shrugged, with an odd apologetic note. 'Not to the point of disobedience, but certainly to point of resistance. I too,' Unohana added, 'had a burden of duty towards the head of my clan, so that was all there was. I rarely spoke to him directly – more weight of ritual – but, I never had the feeling he resented our questioning. If he had, he would have been able to stop it by merely ordering silence. He never did. The tension that I was speaking of,' she followed, 'was poignant between us and the rest of the clan elders.'

'The arrangement worked better than they might have liked, then,' the Primera guessed. 'After all, a lone vulnerable heir would make a weaker and more concession-inclined future leader, while one with a strong ally…'

Unohana glanced his way, narrowing her eyes.

'You too are an intelligent man, Primera Espada, Stark.' She said.

'I have my moments,' the Arrancar shrugged. 'And it is Stark, please, I…am not overly formal.' He added, willingly omitting the fact that the title made him cringe.

'Noted,' she said, with a nod. 'It was unusual,' she continued, with an odd light in her eyes, 'for a young couple, especially one built in such a way, to be that close. It was expected that we would have tea together, sleep together, but certainly not _think_ together – especially since evidence seemed to point that the thinking was not done at the detriment of the tea. Clan affairs should not have been within the remit of a young wife, and certainly not one who absconded from her primary role.'

'How could this be a good memory to you?' the man cringed.

'Because all I remember, in truth, is _our_ strength, _his_ strength through it all,' she shrugged. 'The others simply exist on the edges of my memory. Shadows that make the light seem brighter.'

'The other good memory that springs to mind from back then,' she chuckled, 'was the fact that I learned – we learned,' she corrected, with a wry smile, 'that it is sometimes very good and healthy to be absolutely _wrong.'_

'What?' Stark incredulously laughed.

'The slow courtship of the Kuchiki clan paid off,' Unohana said, with a bright, self-amused smile. 'We'd spent about five years debating and questioning it at every turn, and huffing in aggravation between ourselves, but – his father's approach worked. You see,' she followed, 'our perspective had simply been wrong, and we had never thought that the Kuchiki clan leaders were open to the new world, and wanted to descend from the clouds in their turn, but they _had no excuse to. _Kuchiki Ginrei, as I much later learned to know him, was a generous and wise man, by nature, but he was not a hornet's nest that could be swiftly hit. He had a household of ten thousands, and suite of clan elders that numbered in the hundreds. A heartfelt speech might have touched _him_, but it would never have given him sufficient ground to convince his elders; by equal measure,' Unohana smiled, admitting to her own wrong reasoning, 'he was not a man that could be pressured into action. If anything, the fact that the other clans would have joined the new order might have forced him to stand outside it, just as precaution.'

'My father-in-law's small and gradual approach incited changes so small that they went unnoticed by the Kuchiki elders – perhaps,' she chuckled, 'by Ginrei himself, but which allowed them to descend step by step. In the end, a honorary position in the newly formed Gotei seemed like another minor shift – and then,' Unohana smiled, in warm recollection, 'it was Ginrei's nature that assured the position was not honorary at all.'

'We, of course,' she continued, 'went to apologise for our mistakes in not accepting my father-in-law's wisdom; etiquette did not demand it, but…we felt it necessary. He accepted it - the thing that I remember most about that afternoon is not the fear with which we walked into his office and bowed, but the warmth he gave the both of us before he sent us off. I think it was the first and last time I heard him laugh, and assure us that he had never taken offence. That in fact, he'd been mildly worried about our childish haste, but that he'd been proud of our determination in holding our position, of our patience in filling our duties even if we disapproved, and grateful for our trust in him, if not in his methods.'

'I think,' she shrugged, the smile not leaving her features, 'he taught us both how to truly listen and respect others' points of view, not haste to our goals, no matter how justified they might be, and gently nudged our circle of trust outside each other; the lesson saw us through the second kingdom war, after he was gone…'

'Just how much strife can Sereitei cause, God,' Stark frowned – half because the mention of yet another war had surprised him, but also because he'd sensed sadness in her voice.

'It was not Sereitei per se,' Unohana responded, after a deep breath. 'The organization of the Gotei that you encountered existed, but was not solid; even with the backing of the Kuchiki, which was priceless, not only ideologically, but also in terms of funding and sheer manpower, Soul Society was vast, and, by and large, unregulated. Shinigami could arise anywhere, and form relatively powerful clans with a sense of entitlement over territories…'

Stark looked away and grinned in a way that he was assured, she could not place.

'Yes,' he said, to Unohana's questioning glance. 'That sounds unexpectedly familiar.'

'How so?' she asked.

'That is exactly how Hueco Mundo and Vasto Lorde colonies function,' he answered, not bothering to disguise the aggressive glint in his eyes – she surprised him by not being fully taken aback.

'I suppose so,' Unohana said, with the little bow that he now understood signified she accepted something, even if she did not fully comprehend it. 'Was there ever…' she uncertainly began, quickly curtailing her curiosity.

'…an attempt to unify?' the Arrancar completed, grasping that she was unsure whether she would be stepping on dangerous territory; he found the fact that she had even entertained the notion amusing. 'No,' he said, shaking his head. 'Unlike Shinigami, Vasto Lorde are not actually _born_, and cannot coexist with inferiors for any meaningful length of time. For obvious reasons.'

She swallowed dry, realizing her lapse, and took a few deep breaths.

'Apologies,' the Arrancar said, suddenly feeling disappointed at himself – for all of her good effort, it had taken him little to return her to the painful present. 'How…how long were you married?' he asked, looking her way and tiredly hoping that he had not just undone it all.

'Eight hundred years,' she answered, after a moment of hesitation.

It was Stark's turn to be taken aback. 'That outlives all marriages I know,' he said, arching an eyebrow; she smiled, biting her lower lip.

'Time courses differently,' Unohana said. 'We age…differently, well, that you will probably have noticed,' she followed, offering her flawless little hand out for inspection. 'Nobody truly understands the process, but we believe it has to do with how steady one's reiatsu is. Those with highly stable reiatsu reach maturity in almost human years, but then remain at the height of their physical form for as long as their reiatsu allows it. Very high, but unstable reiatsu tends to delay the aging process even further…'

'We were happy,' she chuckled, admitting that she'd strayed from his true question. 'He'd established a form of a diplomatic core, I had achieved bankai, and, more importantly, the centuries of war seemed to have come to an end; the third and last of the kingdom wars was just a skirmish, when compared with what had gone before it. There was limited need for bloodshed, because, by now, Daisuke and his group had grown to know the outer clans so well that he could advise us into smooth agreements…'

'It was partly his curiosity,' she followed, 'but mostly his good heart and his patience; he always had faith that a zone of agreement must exist. The wide net cast by the Sereitei in the wake of the second war had reached all but the farthest of clans, and we were ready to renounce the rest, hoping for some miracle truce, or for the fact that the concentration of forces within Sereitei was so great, that none of them would actually dare attack us. Daisuke never gave up on communication with them, no matter how loose it might have been, though.'

'I guess the father's lessons were learned,' Stark shrugged.

'Indeed,' Unohana conceded. 'I too saw wisdom in not shutting the door, and though his efforts were not truly and openly recognized, he'd proven himself enough to have the faith of our superiors. By the time that one of the outer clans did finally rise against us, the others only half-heartedly followed suit. Half of their troops and many of their elders deserted to Sereitei before the first combat even started. The others saw wisdom and surrendered within two months.'

'Kingdom of Camelot,' Stark sighed, closing his eyes.

'I don't understand?' she softly questioned.

'Legendary account of the unification of the Saxon tribes,' the man said, with a tired smile. 'A fated warlord arising with a new order that was so novel, generous and shining, that even the most remote barbarians felt compelled to join.'

'Did it last?' Unohana inquired.

It was her genuine, open curiosity that made him lie.

_No,_ he thought. _At the height of his glory, the fated warlord was assassinated by one of his trusted knights, and the world fell into such darkness, that it made even the memory of light seem torture. Which incidentally…_

'Yes,' he said, kindly. The woman offered him a bright smile, and Stark once more felt pleased with his choice. 'I cannot imagine that he had much time to run your precious household,' he said, closing his eyes, and crossing his arms under his head.

'Not much,' she laughed, appearing pleased at his intuition. 'All of that seemed so remote and pointless…He'd joined the Gotei in his turn, in a remote branch of the Omnitskido, and started poking at the next hornet's nest, by running incursions into the real world. There was nothing in the old estate to hold his interest, not when so many new wonders had opened before our eyes…'

'While we had been engulfed in our turmoil, with missions to the human world sporadic and disjoined, the human world had come so far, and changed so much... He asked to be posted to the strangest of places, and spent his time at home either learning languages or documenting what he'd found, and he recounted everything so vividly that I felt as if I had joined him.'

'Why did you not?' the Arrancar asked.

'I wanted to, and he always asked. I thought there would be time,' Unohana regretfully answered. 'But, I was having my own adventure of sorts - I was trying to establish the 4th,' she sighed, 'and though the world looked in order, it was still far from. The Academy came next, and between so many things…The time never came; we were still happy sharing each others' adventure when time allowed, and he always brought me the strangest gifts…'

'I recall he brought back a time piece, once,' Unohana chuckled. 'It was the weirdest contraption,' she began to explain, as if she'd been reliving the wonder, and the sheer joy in her voice made Stark laugh and stand to attention in his turn. 'It was like a miniature water tower,' Unohana said, minutely shifting to face him, and holding her hand two feet above ground, to indicate the thing's height. 'It had two water containers, one a bit taller than the other, and as the water moved between them, a buoy of some sort pushed a needle around a dial. It needed to be refilled every morning,' she admitted, with a shrug, 'but…'

'It was new,' Stark nodded, once more closing his eyes and leaning back.

_And you like new things,_ he thought

'It was,' the woman nodded in turn. 'I still have it in my quarters - both he and I preferred to live at the 4th, where…'

Stark noted the abrupt pause, and opened one eye just enough to cast a furtive look to his side. Unohana's lowered gaze had darkened so much that her eyes seemed to have changed colour, and she'd tightly locked her fingers across her stomach.

'Where no one kept an eye on your weight,' he said dryly, but stretched his arm towards her, brushing the tips of his fingers against her shoulder, in a gesture as light an awkward as the one on the night before. She nodded, without lifting her gaze.

'And where no one took pleasure in noting that sun dials did not require daily maintenance,' the woman completed, in such a cold and composed tone, that despite the heaviness that had suddenly descended, the Primera shook his head and grinned wide.

'Oh, I can see how they would have loved _you_,' he said – Unohana looked to the side, for the first time appearing stern, yet the cold in her eyes vanished as soon as she noted that the Arrancar almost looked proud. 'Do not worry. That attitude,' Stark said, his grin not lessening, 'I strongly approve of, Unohana Retsu.'

'They _loved_ me even more when Daisuke died,' she said, in an artificially emotionless voice; the knot of serpents in his chest, the one that he'd all but forgotten about, suddenly let loose and scattered, setting cold trails though his ribcage. 'I still wish that they had given me a week of mourning before they called council on whether I should be suitably remarried, or simply dismissed.'

'According to them,' she followed, not reacting to the fact that Stark had straightened, 'it was undoubtedly my fault; I had incited disobedience towards his father, I had allowed him to endanger himself during Sereitei's wars, and still I had encouraged his ill-fated curiosity towards the ryoka, while withdrawing him from family duties, and engaging in non-family related endeavours of my own.'

'I do hope you did not take to heart,' Stark said, not finding other words. 'By what you describe…'

'No, no,' she said, slowly shaking her head. 'This man was my mirror, and I was his; after the death of our parents we were the only family we truly had - his nature and his openness to all of his causes filled our days with so much wonder, adventure and joy, that nothing which came to pass in the wake of his death could make me question our lives. He led a happy life and made me happy. I did not disapprove of anything that he did or thought, even when I feared for him, and even if I had, I would never have stopped him. He came to me brave and free, and I loved him for it. Else,' she ended, with a brave smile, 'his memory would give me far less of a sense of purpose now.'

The Arrancar nodded, finding little to say.

'Now, it is my turn to think I have spoken more than you had intended to hear,' Unohana concluded at length, with a sad smile.

'Not at all,' Stark sadly shrugged.

'Your daughter…' she dared, without giving him pause to think; the Primera looked up, frowning in incomprehension. 'Did something happen…to her…'

Her question faded under his glance.

'My daughter?' the Arrancar asked, slightly shaking his head.

'The young girl who is always with you,' Unohana responded, swallowing dry. 'I have heard rumours that you knew each other in your human lives…Her reiatsu is very similar to yours, in essence, or yours…I…'

The man looked away, feeling that the snakes in his chest had ascended to his lower jaw and turned into iron.

'You are yet again intelligent, Unohana Retsu; we did, indeed know each other in our human lives. But Lilinette,' he said, between clenched teeth, sensing that the woman had shifted aside in fright, 'was not my daughter; the reason why our reiatsu feels similar is because we are a single entity, with two different manifestations. She is quite literally, the other half of my soul, the woman I wanted to marry, before we, too, ran out of time – her Hollow body simply remained stuck somewhere…behind, along with her memories. And she is no longer _always _with me. In fact, after two lifetimes spanning three centuries, she no longer wishes to be with me at all.'

'I am sorry,' she breathed. 'I am so sorry…I had not meant to…'

He slowly extended his fingers, then closed them into a fist, shutting out her voice.

'I know,' Stark said, his own words coming from his stomach rather than his throat. 'I know.'

Unohana hid her face in her hands, and he heavily leaned his head back against the wall.

'You could not have known,' he whispered.

'You are a forgiving man, Stark,' the woman whispered in turn.

'No,' the Primera answered, feeling as if his entire chest had been encased in ice. 'Not at all. Just not a fully irrational one. I understand,' he said, gently – not because he had felt any gentleness, but simply because his voice would not obey him, 'what you were trying to do. And it is kind…'

'I probably made the most serious mistake I could have made,' Unohana said, biting her lower lip. 'The road to hell…' she added, in a low whisper.

Stark simply nodded.

'I do not wish for this to cause you offence,' he said. 'I understand that knowing more about me would make you feel safer; I understand it could not have been easy to share what you just have with an enemy, but while I can try to do many things to ease your discomfort…I cannot not think of anything to tell you about Lilinette that would not be a sharp corner to us both.'

'She is growing up, and changing while I am not. She has a power of finding constant sources of joy in her life, whereas I do not. There has truly not been joy outside of her, in this life…I cannot speak about her. Not to you.'

_Or, anyone._

'I should not have insisted,' Unohana bowed; though his chest remained encased in ice, Stark mechanically nodded, and heavy silence descended between them once more.

At long length, the woman bowed, then straightened, preparing to stand and leave him alone with his thoughts; her sadness felt heavy and undeserved. He forced himself to speak before she could fully sit upright.

'What happened…' he began; the gaze the woman turned upon him was full of disbelief, as if she had not expected him to speak to her again. 'If I may ask,' he added, coughing lightly to adjust his voice. 'What happened to your husband? Please…' he reconsidered, as the darkness in her eyes grew, 'I do not wish to stir bad memories, in turn. Forget the question, if you wish to.'

_Don't go._

She settled back in a surprisingly fluent motion, which made him wonder whether it had been a question of practiced obedience.

'I do not wish you to retire feeling guilty,' he said. Unohana nodded rapidly, but took her time before lifting her gaze from her lap and looking into the distance.

'Daisuke died because he trusted his humans too much,' she simply said. 'There was,' the woman began softly, 'a breed of humans so spiritually aware in their human lives, that they could actually see _us_.'

Stark looked up.

'To him,' the woman followed, without taking note of his reaction, 'they were such a beautiful wonder…He could speak to them; they could hear him…I think it was one of them who gave him the time piece I spoke of. He was so fascinated that it took him half a century, a human generation, to see and accept that these humans could not only see Shinigami. They saw the Hollow too, and that their spiritual abilities were not limited to awareness. They seemed to be able to channel the sparse reishi in the human world, and, moreover, steal reishi from reiatsu rich beings, and channel them into weapons. Quin…'

'Quincy,' Stark whispered.

'Quincy,' she nodded, not noticing the tremor in his voice. 'They saw Hollow too, and, either unaware of our existence, or simply because our inner strife had distracted us from the human world, they took it upon themselves to become Hollow hunters. It was just…just that they had no mastery, or knowledge, or ability to implement the cycle; Hollow destroyed by Quincy, souls purified, were simply gone, neither to Soul Society, nor to Hueco Mundo…Simply erased.'

'_You_,' the woman whispered, looking to him and seeking confirmation, 'seem like a person who would understand how utterly wrong this is. I know nothing about you, but you are not…You do not feel like an evil man to me – true evil is not a form of perversion, it is _all_ forms of perversion. If you were evil, you would think nothing of either hurting or humiliating me, but you do. Not only that, but you suffer, and think, and feel joy. I do not know what your fault was, indeed, I cannot know if you had any fault, but…full erasure may eliminate the good and hurt along with the evil. And it did,' she breathed. 'It does – the soul cycle cannot subsist like that. If I were to judge,' she said, in an inaudible voice, 'Szayel Aporro, I would dearly like for him to have another human life – perhaps, it would heal whatever ails him…'

'And that would make you chance that it would not?' Stark asked, dryly. 'What if, through yet another cycle, Szayel Aporro would become even more of the monster we both loathe? And how much harm will he have done to others, on his path?'

'I cannot know that,' Unohana said. 'But I cannot know how many he would help, along his path, if he were what he is, but different…If he were simply what he is, in fact - the chances are equal, as is the risk. Yet, one cannot simply erase souls; the cycle is a filter, and all souls pass it many times, through millennia. Culling of souls does not enhance the world. It simply makes its fabric poorer, thinner, and ultimately breakable... I would have hated for _you_ to run into a Quincy,' she whispered. 'If you had, I might be lying torn and humiliated in the single bedroom of this house…The elimination of souls from the cycle only occurs in extreme conditions. Hollow are not extreme, they are just lost.'

She did not notice that his Hollow jaw had ascended to cover his human chin.

'The Quincy weakened the fabric of the world,' Unohana followed. 'Not by erasing evil, but by erasing all trace of _good_ – and _we_ could not allow that. For however much Daisuke loved them, he understood that they were in the wrong, so he tried to reason with them and explained the cycle over and over to those who would listen. At my advice, and calling upon self preservation, threatened those who would not; how could the living humans, with their short life spans, stand against us? Surely, there should have been reason?'

'When Sereitei opened war against the Quincy, his heart was broken,' the woman said, once more knitting her fingers across her waist. 'Even more so than the many times that I was _late, _and yet not with child…And even though he knew Sereitei had no intention to destroy them utterly, he still transplanted some of them to remote corners of the human world where they could start anew…'

'Daisuke spent thirty years of scorn trying to stop the war – a meaningless plea, to Shinigami, for, after all, Quincy were just human. Their deaths meant nothing to the greater cycle. They would simply return. When the first peace treaty was signed he was so happy…He thought and felt and there would truly be a truce; that Quincy tradition would record Shinigami and trust us, that…'

'That by remembering us, humans would not grow to despair, or anger, nor sink to grief, he thought…he thought so many souls would never grow Hollow, if they too had knowledge of the cycle…'

'When further culling of Hollow reoccurred, decades after the truce, Daisuke was baffled,' Unohana said. 'He did not understand why, so, before Sereitei retaliated, he pleaded to be given a chance to speak to them; I pleaded with him, and for him, so his mission was allowed. He did not take his Zanpakutoh. He reasoned that the human generations will have changed, but that he could still speak their language and that they would listen to him, and that his sword would bar paths.'

Her silences were heavy, too.

'He was killed,' Unohana said dryly. 'I do not even know if he managed to speak to them; with his death, and the failure of the peace attempt, the second of ten Quincy wars was sparked, and…'

_The history of my world, as I know it, all sprockets of an unforgiving mechanism fell into place and spun, implacably, turning us all in place – creating me, and bringing you here…_

Stark threw his head back and laughed. Without the weight of his reiatsu, the sound did not echo through the reishi fabric of the world; somehow, however, it still carried its blood curling quality.

'Past eve, you were wondering if there are any Gods, Unohana Retsu,' he said, in a low, menacing chuckle.

The woman frowned, for the first time, in undisguised anger; he understood it all too well, for her words should have inspired anything but amusement, but he simply could not stop.

'Trust me,' Stark said, lifting his sleeve and offering his arm for inspection, 'there truly are none.'

Unohana's fingers curled about his wrist, at first taking in the tattoo of the Primera which marred the back of his hand. Then, slowly, as if, on a dark night, she had been pushing open a door which simply stood ajar, she turned his hand over.

Instead of letting go in fear, she brutally pulled is arm straight for further observation, but took long seconds to understand the two bars which crossed upon the inside his wrist.

_A short one, across the blood vessels – the many bloodlines. A long one, along the bone – the single clan._

'Quincy,' she said between clenched teeth. 'A Quincy cross…'

He'd expected that she would swiftly stand and walk away. Instead, her small fingers ran along the contours of the marking, making him shiver, and he did not truly know why he'd not withdrawn his hand in turn.

'You were a Quincy,' she whispered.

'I was,' the Primera bitterly replied.

The woman's fingers soothingly curled about the marking, hiding it in full, and the unexpected sorrow in her eyes seemed deeper than his own.

'When did you live?' Unohana Retsu asked, as if it had mattered. It did not.

'In the end,' Stark answered, finding that she would know exactly what he meant. 'The end of it all,' he pointlessly clarified.

Her fingers slipped away from his wrist, but not away from his hand, and he spoke her thoughts.

'There are no sharp corners between us, Unohana Retsu. There are simply rows upon rows of sharp fangs.'

* * *

Up next - IvI did make some promises.


	20. Night

Good evening, all :) Well, this one was being looked forward to with much anticipation, doubtlessly on account of IVI's new avatar...Ahem!

We, or rather, Mr. IVI had once promised this fic too shall include love making, and I try my best to keep promises, thus, warnings: explicit sexual activity ahead, all of it the male vs. female sort, and, no, none of it sordid if Stark has anything to say about it - in chapter 20,

Where - well...We all, I guess saw it coming.

(Stark is not really displeased about it, though.)

* * *

Stark continued to stare at the glass, not counting the minutes, not truly feeling the need to taste the ruby coloured liquid. He found he simply enjoyed the play of light within, and that the mere sight kept all thoughts at bay.

Unohana had stood away from the table minutes before, and disappeared into the bedroom.

She'd not wished him a good night.

For a while, he'd imagined he'd heard shuffling of cloth, but the room was distant and she had shut the door, so the sound might only have played in his imagination. The lamp was still on, and the way in which it filtered through the Shouji panel gave him an eerie feeling of warmth.

_Do you miss me, I wonder?_ he thought, looking over his shoulder as if he'd expected the past to be standing behind him. _Or am I thoroughly unnecessary, now that you are finding your own truths? Is he helping you find them?_

But days before, the mere thought would have caused his temper to flare. Now, he merely pressed his forearm across his stomach, feeling as if he'd been about to curl in pain. The sensation, he discovered, was not new. He'd felt this kind of loss before, just once.

_Halibel..._

It was the simple fact that the sensation was not new that made him feel bitter at himself. His mind would never had likened whatever he had shared with Halibel to what he had felt - what he still felt, he forced himself to think - for Lilinette. And yet, the feeling of undeserved, unavoidable loss of something that should have been _his_ was the same; he'd thought himself in possession of Halibel's body, and the fact that he'd had to admit he'd been just a fleeting moment in its history, that she had offered it to another, not out of simple lust, but out of love...

Had he thought of Lilinette's heart in the same way that he'd thought of Halibel's body? Stark wondered, feeling that the knot in his stomach had begun to rise to his throat. Had it all been staking a claim, then defending his rights?

_All of it..._

To the side, the door to the bedroom slipped slightly ajar, sending a definite, thin stream of light across the table before him. He ignored the shy plea for attention for a second longer, while trying to rein in his thoughts, or at least keep them anchored to the present. They evaded his efforts, and the knot continued to rise - admitting defeat, he finally looked up.

Unohana had changed into her nightdress, with nothing but a cream silk gown wrapped tightly on top of it. Freed from the weight of her kimono and haori, she appeared as small and frail as if she'd been cast in porcelain. She was not looking his way; she simply sat on her knees by the side of the low mattress, glancing ahead, and though her face was perfectly straight, he could somehow sense she'd been crying. But for the tiny, nervous twitches of her fingers, and the fact that he could hear her breath falter each time she drew it, she could truly have been mistaken for a statue.

Unohana swallowed dry, and lowered her glance.

Stark did not rush.

For a moment, they sat quietly on either side of the open door, and he took the time to fully see her before making any movement. He bitterly smiled at his own thoughts.

_Gods of nothing_, his mind eerily echoed.

The woman was too beautiful in her surrender for the old phrase to conjure anything but bittersweet regret, and when he glanced at her he saw nothing but the hinted shape of her shoulders and breasts, though the light veil of silk, and thought of nothing but that her feet were amusingly small.

_No Shinigami here,_ he thought. _Just someone whose pain is different from mine._

He walked to her side, noticing that she'd cringed as soon as he'd stepped over the threshold; she'd nonetheless looked up, not mustering enough strength for even the faintest smile, but welcoming him with a nod. Her glance unwillingly slipped to the hole in his chest, before she caught herself and forced herself to look away - in another time and place, Stark thought, he would have found the movement offensive. Now, he thought, gently putting his hands on her shoulders to keep her from getting up, it did not much matter.

He kneeled behind her, placing his knees on either side of hers, and expecting the little shudder that ran though her body at the unwanted proximity. She was so tense that her muscles could have been wrought iron, he noted, while softly running his fingers over the exposed skin on the back of her neck - Unohana whimpered at the touch, and minutely inched forward, as if to escape it; she stiffened even further, and willed herself in place.

'I am sorry,' she whispered.

'It is alright,' Stark answered, spreading his fingers on her shoulders, and continuing to caress. He leaned forward slightly, trying to make up for the still pointed difference in height. 'I could try to make this quick,' the Arrancar whispered, sensing her entire body tense, 'but I think that would be even more demeaning to us both. I would rather not. I would rather we both steal whatever comfort we can, and forget them all.' he said.

Slowly, allowing her time to get used to the touch, he ran his hand along her right arm, towards the wrist and the black ribbon of the reiatsu suppressor; he reached under it, tentatively pushing his index and middle finger in, and testing the elasticity of the weave. She stirred in alarm, but he did not give her time to react - he simply ripped it off, in a single, lightning fast motion. Unohana gasped, and looked over her shoulder in fright.

'Szayel Aporro said...' she began, the full flavour of her energy suddenly drowning them both.

Stark did not answer.

Instead, he placed his arm alongside hers, and slightly lifted the sleeve of his tunic, allowing her to see the black ribbon on his own wrist, and showing her that she was in power.

'If you want me to stop, whenever you want me to stop,' he said, 'tell me, and I will.'

She nodded hastily, without meeting his glance.

The Arrancar lowered his head and smiled.

His hands returned to her shoulders, and paused there for just long enough to let her energy settle; her skin was soft and pale, and felt warm even through the fine silk of the gown. He let his fingers enjoy the sensation of warmth as he once more slipped both hands along her arms; when he reached her fingers, gently prying her hands apart and into his, her breath hitched. Without taking note of it, and with the same pointed slowness, he guided her hands over the small, silver clutch which held her braid in place.

Understanding when he'd meant her to do, Unohana pressed it open, then, while his fingers danced around hers, slowly began to undo her braid, one long silky strand after the other. He'd imagined her hair would be fine and light, but, as the locks were fully unbraided, and he gently pulled them back over her shoulder, he was surprised at its thickness and weight - once free of his fingers, the hair unwound down to the small of her back, perfectly dark and straight, and carrying no wavy memory of the braid's tightness. He ran his left hand over it, taking care not to touch the silk of the gown, then reached for another strand and stopped in mid motion; the hair at the center of the braid was not even white - it was merely grey, but stood in striking contrast to the rich, dark tresses that surrounded it.

Stark was overly surprised by the sight. Not because he found the only true sign of aging he'd seen in her distasteful, but because the rest of her appearance was so youthful, that he had not even imagined signs of aging existed. He glanced at it in fascination, for a moment not perceiving that his too pointed attention might have been indelicate, and only realising his mistake when Unohana looked over her shoulder and awaited his next move with embarrassment, and, he thought, with a tiny hint of regret.

_She's thinking that by truly seeing how old she is, I will remember who she was, and what she represented to me before all this_, the Arrancar thought - but though the rational knowledge of who the woman had been truly formed in his mind, it gained no strength, and wavered like a shadow.

_There are no Shinigami here._

He tilted his head to the side, and his glance softened to an apology. He reached for the strand of hair, just like he had for all of the others - it was Unohana who hesitated. She separated the grey from the rest, and straightened it between her index and middle finger.

'I don't hide _this_,' she said, as if he had demanded justification. 'I am not ashamed of it...I think,' Unohana whispered, 'I think what I am hiding is the fact that the rest is not the same colour; it should be, I am so old, and yet...'

_And yet you keep surviving, each day, each hour, all joy and all indignity...You survived, and all your long life has led you to is this..._Stark thought, pulling all of her hair back and caressing her cheek with the back of his left hand; though their fingers were no longer touching, they were so close that he could feel the warmth of her skin.

'I like it,' he whispered, running his fingers through her hair, and kissing the side of her neck. He placed his hand on her wrist, relishing in the softness and drawing the sleeve of the gown away as he slowly ascended towards the delicate inside of the elbow. He lingered there, drawing small, pointless circles with the tip of his index, before encircling it fully and guiding her to reach for the small silver jewel.

He had no idea what he wanted to do with her hair, except for enjoy its texture, yet, after a few attempts at braiding it differently, which came to pass only because he liked the way in which the thick, perfectly smooth tresses felt, he settled for simply clasping it at mid-length and placing it over her left shoulder. For his own pleasure, he'd made sure that the grey strand was visible, and drew a soft but definite curve in the shimmering darkness.

_I've survived many things too,_ he thought.

Unohana did not draw away when he pulled the gown's collar just an inch lower, exposing her shoulders and the laced straps of the nightdress; the silk yielded as gracefully as her hair had, and he fancied a mere tug would have sent it sliding all the way down. Yet, he had no hurry, and simply enjoyed the small expanse of skin he had uncovered; the woman briefly gripped his hand, a bit too tightly, letting him know that his attention was appreciated, but that she could still not reciprocate by any more than shyly caressing the back of his hand with her thumb.

'You are so small,' he said, in true amazement - Unohana pressed a little bit closer, no longer shuddering at his touch. He let his hands wander over her shoulders and arms, seamlessly pushing the nightdress straps off her shoulders and daring to let himself feel for the curve of her waist, as his hands descended along the sides of her body. Both dress and gown slipped, revealing a few more inches of skin - she reflexively crossed her arms over her chest, struggling to keep them in place but only succeeding in making both fall even lower; Stark rushed to reward the tiny, fortuitous mishap by trailing kisses across her back, tracing her shoulder with his index and tentatively exploring below the line where the gown had slipped to. Her clothes and her hair smelled of jasmine, but he doubted she was wearing perfume; a small, brown birthmark, on the upper side of her arm briefly gained his attention, before he tentatively caressed her collarbone, making sure that at no time his fingers threatened to slip beneath the fiercely held line of the gown.

'Thank you...' the woman said, taking note of the detail. Stark traced her chin, half turning it and meeting her glance.

'What for?' he gently asked.

'For your patience...It cannot be easy for you,' she answered, swallowing dry. 'Your heart is in another place.'

'I have no heart,' Stark whispered, simply. 'But my thoughts are here with you. I am here with you,' he added. 'And you are beautiful, and I truly wish to be nowhere else.'

_In more ways than one..._

'I'll do my best to pleasure you, if you will let me; I'll understand if you do not, but be grateful if you do.' he said.

Her arms wavered slightly, but then continued to clutch the silk which hid her with redoubled strength. She cringed at her own defensiveness, her glance growing apologetic, but the Arrancar grinned.

'No rush,' he whispered. 'No rush.'

Stark nonetheless reached for her fingers, once more disentangling her right hand from her left. He chose the right arm, and pulled it away from her chest. Unohana reluctantly yielded, but her arm grew soft once his fingers had travelled along its length, and gently led hers to spread out over his palm. Her hand was barely two thirds of his, and they both stopped to wonder at the sight for a few seconds, before he pressed it to his lips and let his index and thumb encircle her wrist, holding it prisoner.

She guessed what he intended, and her breath hitched so he gave her pause, by once more threading kiss after kiss on her shoulders and neck; it was only when her head leaned on his shoulder in surrender that he repeated the motion on her left arm. This time, Stark did not want to surprise, and allowed her to yield inch by inch. She whimpered as the silk slipped away from her skin, falling gracefully around her waist; with both wrists prisoners to his hands, she could do little but turn her chin and to glance in his eyes, almost making sure he was not looking down.

'You can always tell me to stop,' Stark reminded, setting her wrists free; Unohana breathed in deeply, her bare shoulders leaning against his chest, but, after a moment of hesitation, closed her eyes, and let her arms fall limply along her body.

She was a sight, Stark thought, biting his lower lip in anticipation - though her body had nothing of Halibel's majestic proportion, Unohana possessed something else: not force, but grace, and unspeakable frailty. Small, round and unassuming breasts, with tiny, dark tips...a slightly rounded stomach, a deep, white scar from a long forgotten battle on her pointy hip...

Stark traced the contour of her breast with the back of his hand, swiftly breaking contact when he felt her cringe - he chose to alter his hands' direction, and caressed her stomach, chuckling as she unconsciously breathed in, trying to make the soft curve disappear.

'I could encircle your waist in my hands,' he scolded; she sighed, and shrugged slightly, conceding to his point but still holding her breath. Unohana slightly shifted her arm, pressing its upper part against his and nestling her shoulders to his chest; her fingers unconsciously clenched the silk around her waist when his hands ascended to cover her breasts, this time, with no trace of shyness or hesitation. Stark simply closed his eyes, and listened to the rhythm of her breath, taking pleasure in the fact that he felt her frightened heartbeat in his hand, as well as in the fact that after a few circular caresses, the small, dark tips of her breasts had hardened, and felt like the stone of a cherry. He traced one small, round area of sensitive skin after the other, letting his thumbs tease while his fingers delighted in the shape and soft weight.

_More than a handful is wasted,_ Stark thought with an inward grin, sensing his patience was wearing thin, but not yet willing to give in to the rush - he longed for a taste of what his hands and eyes alone enjoyed, yet the memory of the look on her face when she'd pointedly glanced at his hollow hole made him wiser than to attempt it. He simply made his touch more poignant and enjoyed what he'd uncovered; she clutched his arm and arched slightly when he caught one of her nipples between index and forefinger, and applied just the tiniest bit of strength. She'd also forgotten to hold her stomach in, and he found the abandon so delightful that he allowed his hands to linger there before gently exploring under the waves of cream silk which still clung to her hips.

Unohana stiffened, and for a moment, he'd feared he'd broken the frail hold of the spell; her eyelids flew open, and the grip of her fingers on his arm became painful. Still, though fear still reigned, she shifted and parted her knees ever so slightly, allowing the caress. Stark breathed in deeply, and her entire body moved with his. Touching in blind was deeply frustrating but torturously delightful at the same time - her thighs felt hot, and soft, and smooth, and when his fingers delicately brushed against her silky sex, he found himself wondering why he did not care that her reiatsu aided grip on his arm would soon become tight enough to shatter the bone.

She held her breath and whimpered, more in fear and embarrassment than in pleasure or expectation, and he hesitated between withdrawing, or chancing some insistence - he decided for the latter, attempting to distract her by kissing the sweetly offered curve of her neck, and returning one hand to the soft roundedness of her breasts. Still, his fingers explored hidden territory and soon found aim - but for the fact that his arm encircled her chest, she would have jolted forward.

'Please,' he whispered, accompanying the plea with a short, circular motion of his thumb - she bit back the sigh the movement had drawn, but remained stiff.

'What are you doing...,' Unohana asked, sounding terrified.

She'd not queried the movement, he guessed; her skin felt undeniably hot, spreading even more of the delightful jasmine smell, and her breath was irregular. She was, despite what she had probably thought, feeling some pleasure in his touch, and she feared feeling more - she'd not queried the motions, but their implications, she'd _sensed_ implications…

_She'll never be able to see me as she did before,_ _if this comes to pass_, he thought.

Implications, where she knew or felt that there could realistically be none...Or where she wanted none. The thought returned a familiar knot to the pit of his stomach.

'Making love to you,' he honestly whispered, sustaining her glance for a moment, then looking aside, and letting his hand slip over her thigh, away from her body.

_Perhaps this was not what was intended,_ Stark bitterly thought.

'Apologies,' he said, not bothering to disguise the tremor of frustration in his voice as he straightened and withdrew both arms from around her body. 'I believe I misunderstood...'

She half turned, rather than simply looked over her shoulder as she had before. Her arms were once more crossed over her chest, and the silk curtain of her hair had fallen from her shoulder and unwound over her back. Unohana measured him with an expression he could not truly read, but chose to interpret, nonetheless.

'Apologies,' he repeated, preparing to withdraw, yet, before he could, she tentatively reached out and caressed the sharp contours of his cheek, then, moving with the grace of a dream, minutely lifted herself from her knees and kissed him on the lips.

It was the last thing that he'd expected, so he breathed out harshly, pulling away in his turn; their lips parted, but her hand slipped to his shoulder, leaning on it as she spun fully towards him, not caring that the gown and nightdress had fully fallen away from her figure in the process. She looked into his eyes and slowly raised herself to her knees, trying to match his height but falling short by a few inches - and Gods, he thought hungrily taking in the chance of fully seeing her body, she was beautiful, and frail, and utterly breakable, with her impossibly small waist and slender hips, all her shapes gentle and round and silky...Just like her features, he thought, reaching to caress her cheek, and taking in the fullness of her lips, and the sorrowful expression in her eyes.

She leaned in, letting her fingers adrift over his chest, over the soft fabric of his tunic, and bringing them to a stop above his hollow hole. Her hand was almost too small to hide it.

'I don't understand _this_,' Unohana said, in sweet and open self question; the knot in his stomach became scalding, and heavy, before collapsing under its own weight and melting as if it had never been.

'I hope you never will,' he answered, suddenly feeling ashamed of what he'd thought and felt but a second before – he tentatively tucked her hair behind her ear, using the gesture as an excuse to slip his fingers through her hair and bring her face close. She tasted of tea, and honey, and her lips were deliciously full and firm, and though her hesitations still lurked, she let herself be pulled close without stiff resistance, and gracefully snaked one arm around his neck, while the hand on his chest descended and began to battle against the first button of his tunic.

In turn, his hand found its way from her breasts to her sex as if the route had been explored a million times over; Stark breathed in her little sigh, all but tasting it. The caresses took some patience, yet the rewards did not tarry overly long. Her breath grew shallow, and her fingers trembled, failing to conquer the second button – he didn't mind; he simply pressed his arm across her back, bringing her to arch backwards, and trailed kisses over her chest before tasting of one breast after the other. The woman moved with him, arching even further back and spreading her knees just a few shy inches further apart.

Stark circled the entrance of her sex with his index, giving her ample warning before tentatively slipping it inside; his thumb continued its focus, and sighs turned to cut off, delicious whimpers - though she was leaning her full weight on his arm, she felt as light as a feather, and so very, very tight, silky and hot…Unohana straightened, only to lean her forehead to his chest and hide her face in his shoulder. She gripped the tunic as if she'd been about to rip it, minutely moving with the caress at each cut-off breath. Tight warmth became slick and all movement grew fluid. Stark felt her hot breath on the side of his neck, and thought nothing of pushing her a few inches away and stealing it with a kiss – she was blushing, with pleasure and a small hint of shame that rendered it all even more delightful, and closed her eyes to shy away from his too attentive glance.

The caress grew lighter, then stopped – she all but whimpered when his hand finally withdrew and hid her face in true shame when he could not withhold a chuckle. Keeping her tight to his chest, Stark carefully leaned forward, resting both of their weights on his arm and giving her time to straighten her legs before he lay her back on the mattress. It took some kind resolve to disentangle himself from her tight grip, but the sight as he straightened was a reward onto itself; Unohana tensed as if attempting to make herself even smaller, and hid away from his scrutiny by closing her eyes, but blushed fiercely nonetheless.

_You're beautiful_, he thought, keeping the thought to himself, and undressed, trying to keep his rush silent, but not quite succeeding, just as she had failed in hiding the fact that she was measuring him through her eyelashes. He pretended not to notice, and slowed down, for the first time in his memory folding his tunic before placing it aside. Stark unfastened his sash, and folded it too, stealing a glance in her direction – this time, she noticed that she'd been caught looking. He'd suspected that she'd look aside and blush; Unohana opened her eyes wide and smiled, shyly but honestly, almost as if she were apologizing to herself.

They took notice of the fact that he was painfully erect at the same time; neither of them gave the fact more relevance than it held. Unohana simply glanced down, then back up, into his eyes, as he rid himself of all things unnecessary.

Stark lay atop her, slowly stretching his long frame out and idly wondering how the differences in their body sizes would reconcile; she felt frail and hot beneath him, and he had to make an effort not to lean his elbows on her hair. Unohana shifted slightly, allowing one of his knees to slip between hers – his fingers returned to her sex for barely long enough to assure that it was still slick and accepting.

Both held their breath.

_There is no return from here,_ he thought.

Oddly, he did not think he would want one.

Unohana's breath hitched, so he stopped in mid motion, giving her time to adjust, and questioningly kissing the corner of her lips; he did not press until glimmer of doubt and pain vanished from her eyes, but although she attempted to relax, he could tell that the first motions would be painful. The woman whimpered slightly and held her breath, but her arms encircled his shoulders, bringing him close. She arched beneath him, and the sensation of her breasts against his chest threatened to make his heart burst and his patience shatter. Stark ran his fingers through her hair, just as her hands settled on his shoulders, tensing slightly each time that their bodies met; for the first time, his breath became unsteady and shallow, and she breathed with him before she began softly moving with him, gripping his hips with her thighs, and arching her back to meet each motion – time, as all other meaningless trappings of a world that had refused them both sense dulled to the sensation. Her eyelids fluttered, and he lifted himself on his right arm to take in the motion of her breasts, and the tension in her hips, knowing that the sight would only serve to heighten the growing pressure in his lower stomach; the woman's sex was hot, and almost unbearably tight around his, and her sighs marked sweet, ever increasing rhythm.

Fire ascended from his belly, spreading through his limbs; she minutely lifted her hips off the mattress, and pushed against him with her own determination, falling deeper and deeper into pleasure with each motion, and shuddering with delicious, telling impatience. Her arms slipped from his shoulders, drifting helplessly across his chest before falling to the sides in surrender. Stark caught her left hand, bringing himself close and kissing her fingers before kissing her lips. The world spun faster and faster, and her sex became so tight that he distantly feared he would hurt her – he lowered his chin, falling prey to no more than the approach of shared climax, then to look into her eyes, wishing to partake in the storm of sensation which spun in their darkness. Her eyelids descended more and more with each second of abandon; she lifted one knee, snaking her leg around his waist and forcing depth to his motions – then, for a fleeting moment, she closed her eyes fully, breathing deeply in though softly parted lips. Stark willed himself on, for what he imagined would be a mere more second, and prepared to taste climax in her breath.

Her eyelids flew open; not sweet ecstasy, but fiery embers danced in the depth – he stopped abruptly, though he felt as if his body would almost go on without him. His heart skipped a beat, in surprise, as the woman's reiatsu gripped him, and the leg that she'd placed across the small of his back solidly kept him in place.

Though her body still shivered, it was her turn to savor the surprise in his eyes for a few seconds which felt as long as millennia – then, slowly, Unohana bit her lower lip, and glanced at him though half closed eyes which were filled with shining malice.

'Are we in a rush _now_?' she whispered, with a mischievous grin; he did not have time to even think of a response. Her tiny body strengthened by the suddenly arisen tide of her energy, Unohana rolled them both to the side, rising atop him and leaving him no time to react. She contemplated his surprise with an inkling of malicious amusement. Stark held his breath, looking at her in incomprehension and feeling a foreign twinge of fear and uncertainty – the emotion must have flashed though his eyes, for her glance immediately softened, and though the hint of malice stayed in the corner of her lips, her reiatsu receded, and she slowly lowered herself to kiss him.

'No rush,' the woman said, kindly, her lips barely an inch away from his, so that he breathed, rather than heard the words. 'No rush,' she repeated, graciously straightening – the silky tips of her hair ran over his chest, and the first circular movement of her hips was tight, sensuous and torturously slow.

It was his turn to let out a cut off moan; he'd been on the very verge of climax, and by the colour in her cheeks, and the expression in her eyes, Unohana must have been tethering on the very same sensation. The change in pace was all but painful, pressure and feeling growing with each of her movements, not leading towards climax, but willingly withholding them both from it. He bit his lower lip and closed his eyes, putting his hands on her hips and pressing against her in the vain hope of enticing speed – the rhythm of her motions did not falter. The woman breathed softly and deeply, through parted lips, and almost lifted herself fully off his body before insinuating herself back down; Stark moaned in frustration and looked up, and she leaned both hands on his chest, bringing her hair forward, over her shoulder.

'Please,' she whispered, frowning lightly, and repeating his earlier plea as she caressed his cheek.

Her movement stopped, but their bodies remained as one.

'I want to make love to you too,' Unohana said; a hint of sweet sorrow grew in her eyes. 'I want you to _know_ that. You came to me so open…'

Her voice broke, and her body moved backwards over his almost of its own accord – she whimpered to her own sign of impatience, and willed her hips up in a purposeful, circular motion. She did not muster enough control to speak more, but kept her eyes locked to his letting her glance speak for her, and tell him that for that particular instant, she too wished to be nowhere else; that she too thought of nothing else – that she was there with him, not only in body, but also in mind, and Stark surrendered, allowing all thought to drown to the sweet torture that her touch and her movement brought.

Pleasure, he thought, not control, but surrender…a myriad of aimless, dizzying sensations – her fingers, her breasts, her hair, the thin mist of sweat which made her skin glow, her sex, her lips, the way in which her thighs gripped his, her eyes, the very rhythm of her breath - not a goal that had to be reached, but simply a state to be savored. All thought of climax grew remote and unimportant in the growing warmth and light, his blood pulsing with the beat of her heart.

Seconds or millennia later, she shuddered, and breathed out her release in a sweet sigh; he gripped her tightly, just as her sex gripped him, and moved inside her a few more times, not arriving at climax, but slowly melting into it, losing himself and feeling no regret.

She slipped off his body and lay beside him in silence that neither wished to break; still, her fingers entwined with his and he turned to the side, merely content to look at her, and unwilling to think or feel anything but the lingering pleasure.

_The places we take refuge to,_ he nonetheless thought – return to reality was not swift, but had already begun its assault; he suddenly felt cold, and instinctively brought her hand to his chest, wishing her closer but also feeling as if he'd been pleading for help. He caught himself in what he thought was good time, and closed his eyes, unwilling to let her see that his thoughts had already drifted.

_I wish I could be here with you for a little while longer,_ Stark thought.

'You lied to me,' Unohana whispered.

He opened his eyes, to find she'd curled by his side, their hands entwined between them.

'How…' he asked, expecting she had noted his fall back to reality.

'The Kingdom of Camelot,' the woman answered, softly. 'It did not last.'

Stark slipped his hand through her hair, finding the white strand.

'No, it didn't.' the Arrancar whispered. 'I'm sorry.'

* * *

Up next - A little omake. And yes, just in case you were wondering, if left to his own devices, Stark *is* a bookworm.


	21. Come Dawn

Hello, hello - looks like we all made it through the FF net face lift :D

We promised an omake though, and here it be - just in time for the weekend :)

Chapter 20 and 1/2 - Where Stark is a bit geeky, but he likes it :)

* * *

Stark looked up from his book, but did not frown as Unohana had expected he would. It was, perhaps, the fact that she felt mildly guilty over disturbing him that made her assume he would mind the interruption – she'd watched him sitting in the garden and reading for the past few days, and he'd seemed so focused on the words before him that she had long hesitated in doing anything that might have pried his attention away.

Or well, she thought, feeling increasingly embarrassed as she sat down a foot away from his side, and under the single, young apple tree, she'd long hesitated in doing anything that would have drawn his attention to _her_. By all rights, she should not even have wanted that. And still…

The intimacy of the two past nights never seemed to survive dawn. For as attentive and giving as he was when he touched her, daybreak rendered him aloof and distant, and he tried as best he could to assure that their paths did not cross – either in the small house, or in the tiny garden. For the first few days, Unohana had felt grateful: it truly seemed as if the Arrancar did not wish to impose his presence on her, or perhaps, he did not want to suffer her presence. Either way, Stark had tried to minimize unwanted contact in a way which, after the added knowledge of him she fancied she had gathered during their nights, she dared assume was no more than him being quaintly discrete.

By venturing into the garden she simply wished to let him know that she did not want to avoid him, and that his presence neither disgusted nor frightened her, Unohana thought.

_Nothing more than that._

The day was bright and sunny, and the shadows of leaves above danced merrily across the pages; she peered at the book in open curiosity, but found its letters and horizontal rows alien.

'What language is this?' Unohana shyly inquired.

'French,' Stark answered.

He did not pry the book away; in fact, she had the sensation that he'd inched it towards her.

'Your language?' she asked, not knowing whether the question was appropriate, and not intending to stir painful memories.

'My mother's language,' he replied, once again not thinking what she'd expected him to. 'My mother tongue is German…'

Stark smiled at her obvious confusion, and closed the book.

'In a land far away from the edges of Karakura,' he began, in a mildly ironic, but kind tone, 'to the far west of your world, there is a fairy tale place called Europe, where not all countries are islands.'

'I know,' she answered, a bit rebelliously. He narrowed his eyes, calling her bluff, and she blushed. 'I don't know much more than that, though,' Unohana admitted, lowering her glance.

'France and Prussia – the Prussian Empire, bordered uneasily on each other during the time when I lived. I think this was partly because the border provinces, which often changed rulers, had come to belong to neither land, but rather, have a mixed identity of their own. My father thought he was German and my mother thought she was French, but they spent their entire childhood playing across the street from each other. They loved each other and married, but though they came from the same place, neither of them ever renounced their perceived identity. It was always amusing,' he smiled. 'She grew red in the face when my father spoke German to me, and he was always uneasy when she either berated me or soothed me in French. I think she would punish me – the tickle torture was the norm in our house, since I am terribly ticklish - for saying my mother tongue is German.'

Unohana laughed.

'I understand and don't understand at the same time,' she shrugged. Stark smiled in his turn. 'But I have to say that I envy you a little,' the woman dared.

'Whatever for?' he frowned.

'Because you remember your human life,' Unohana honestly answered. 'I do not even know if I had one, or whether I was born here for the first time. I mean…'

She searched for her next words, yet again fearing she would offend him.

'My memories are not poor; I have experienced warmth, doubt, and growing up while being cherished, and while I cannot fathom the physical sensation, I think I at least recognize the spiritual warmth of the tickle torture you mention. Yet, it has been only _once. _If I had a human life, and a mother, I would dearly wish I could remember her. You do,' she simply concluded.

'I was not born again in Hueco Mundo,' he distantly said. 'I too remember only one childhood and only one mother.'

'I am sorry – I did not mean…' Unohana rapidly began; the smile in the corner of his lips was just a tad bitter, but was a smile nonetheless.

'I understood what you meant,' Stark said; he gazed in the distance for a moment. 'I think I never saw things in that perspective,' he added. 'Whenever I suffer, it is made deeper by what I have felt before; whenever I experience happiness, it too is enriched, whereas you only have this moment and this lifetime…'

He grinned, suddenly looking confident.

'I think you are right,' Stark said. 'I think you should envy me a little.'

Unohana chuckled, and felt at ease.

'I would like to be human again,' she said. 'Or maybe, I would like to be human the first time.'

'And give up all this glory?' he questioned, arching an ironic eyebrow.

'Soul Society never changes,' the woman answered, with a mild shrug; she questioningly looked at him, then continued, along a different line. 'Szayel Aporro,' she began to explain, watching his face for any sign of discomfort, 'is very young in the cycle. Just like you, I assume, I find most aspects of his personality terrifying.'

She waited for his nod before continuing.

'Yet,' Unohana said, in a tone that bordered on apologetic, 'the way in which his mind works is fascinating to me. It is not simply the knowledge he possesses, but his ability of transcending borders between subjects, and, within a split second, making his knowledge of technology useful to say, anatomy, and genetics – the associations that his mind makes, the sheer freedom and creativity it has…I do not think that I am less endowed, in terms of intellect,' Unohana said, without false modesty. 'But I was taught to think within boundaries; my mind does not freely associate my knowledge of chemistry to my knowledge of medicine. It only does so along learned paths. I have to make a permanent and conscious effort to associate technology with either medicine or chemistry. The world that made Szayel Aporro, with all that is frightening, but also all that is magic about him, must be a truly interesting place.'

'The world that made you,' she said, lowering her glance, 'must have been a fascinating place. But I am here, where I was born, in a place that never changes, and assures that I do not have to change either.'

'Habitude is comforting sometimes,' Stark offered.

'It's been two thousand years,' she whispered. 'I am just…curious.'

'You likely would not remember _this_ if you were to be human again,' the Arrancar said, softly. 'You would not see human life and all of its little joys and mysteries as anything else but moments in which something or another inconveniences you. You'd lack the perspective that you have now, and without the perspective, you would not feel how wondrous it truly is. You'd just think you are suffering through it.'

'I know.' Unohana answered. 'I think the nature of all spirit is to be restless, regardless of the form of its incarnation. It is uncomfortable and perhaps destined to never be truly peaceful, but it is beautiful nonetheless – the fact that we always long for completeness assures that we are never left without aspiration. I like that. What are you reading?' she asked, feeling oddly ashamed of the honesty of her admission.

Stark pursed his lips, then grinned with a touch of arrogance which let her know her feelings had not gone unobserved.

'_L'Esprit des Lois_,' he answered, offering the cover of the book, and its alien letters for inspection. 'The spirit of laws,' he translated, with a superior smile; she frowned a little, as if to say his irony had been a touch unfair. 'It was written by a fellow called Charles, baron of Montesquieu, and what he was attempting to do is make logical links between the French legal system, and human nature.'

Unohana inched closer, peering at the book's cover with a bit of regret.

'He thought,' Stark continued, 'that laws exist as they do because there are inherent traits of human nature, or simply naturally occurring phenomena which mechanically justify them; there's a hilarious chapter that attempts to link monogamy to the natural ratio of male and female births, and he seems to assume that legal systems which allow polygamy or polyandry exist because in those countries, there really are far more women than men, respectively, far more men than women.'

'Which is not the case?' she asked.

'I do not think so,' Stark shrugged. 'I think that particular issue is determined by culturally created perceptions of self. But – I have some advantage over him, because I might have glimpsed some modern statistics which say that the ratio of male to female births tends to stay constant across geographies, and that large misbalances only occur as a mysterious response to cataclysmic events, such as wars or earthquakes. I am sorry,' he said, scratching the back of his head. 'I do not mean to lecture…'

'What else does he wonder about?' Unohana inquired, not hearing his last sentence.

Stark was disconcerted for a moment, glancing between her and the book's cover, as if he'd found it hard to believe she was interested; still, she read nothing in his doubt, and simply looked to him in anticipation. He surrendered.

'Well,' Stark began, opening the book and hastily searching for a chapter, 'many things. Let me find something that you'll find familiar, there is a section where Japan is quoted as an example. I'll apologise beforehand, he probably knew as much about Japan as you know about Europe, but…'

'It is all right,' Unohana chuckled.

'All right, then,' he nodded. 'The chapter in which he references Japan deals with proportional punishment, and how a legal system must make sure that the punishment is in proportion to the crime; he contends that either too lax, or too harsh penalties equally defeat the purpose of establishing a lawful society. He offers imperial Japan as an example of the latter, I fear.'

'Read to me,' she prompted, with honest, childish excitement. 'If you want to,' she caught herself, inwardly berating herself for being presumptuous. He had, after all, come to the garden to read in peace. 'You do not have to,' the woman said, lowering her glance. 'I did not mean to fragment your thoughts…'

'_Extravagant penalties can corrupt despotism in itself,' _Stark read out loud. He stopped briefly to look at her, and smiled, while the shadows of leaves danced across the page. '_Let us look at Japan.'_

They did not make love that night; between her corrections to Japanese history from a European perspective, and his pointers at the fact that lack of perfect knowledge of the legal systems Charles, baron of Montesquieu described did not fully invalidate the writer's logic, they did not have time to.

* * *

Up Next - Elsewhere in Sereitei, Ukitake gets in trouble with taxes. Well, the economy has to keep going, right?


	22. Management 101

Good evening, good evening! I have just returned from having dinner at a place called The Famous Cock.

Go Britsh people, you are...weird in all the right ways :)

The best pub name I've seen was 'The Duck and the Triangle'.

...the triangle?

Thank you all for the reading and commenting, and here we go to chapter 22,

Where - Ukitake does math. (well, he cursed before, he might as well do math...)

* * *

'So, Grimm said he ain't touching no fucking papers and that it's all my fault anyway, so I should fucking fix it. So, he told me to fix it, but I dunno how to fix it, or anyone but you who can fix it, either.' Lilinette said, in a single breath.

'So, there ya go,' she ended – pushing a foot tall stack of paper forth on the small tea table, before Ukitake could even blink in astonishment. 'Fix it.'

'You are shadow at the 3rd?' Ukitake asked, ignoring the stack of paper and still not truly believing the premises of the conversation, or fully comprehending the creature that sat before him. It had been two weeks since he'd last seen Lilinette, on a night that smelled of grass and tasted of sorrow – it could well have been a millennium.

Her mask had receded to three quarters of its former size, and her incomplete horn was gone. Her hair grew inordinately; previously straight cut, ear length tresses now grew down to her left shoulder, on the side where the mask had receded, but remained short on her right side, where it was still covered by the mask. She'd grown a couple of inches, but remained lanky and shapeless – a bonsai that had not yet decided exactly what to grow in to.

Ukitake shook his head free of the thought.

'You are shadow at the 3rd?' he queried once more. 'They actually gave you…'

Lilinette's pink eye narrowed menacingly.

'I dunno why everyone keeps forgettin' how old I am,' she muttered, smirking in a way that very accurately answered her own question. She meaningfully stared at him for another few seconds, then sighed. 'And they didn't _give_ me anything, I asked for it, as Grimm likes to tell me.'

Her grin turned mischievous.

'Did ya miss me?' Lilinette asked; he wondered why he felt he had.

Ukitake could not have actually missed her, since their contact had been limited anyway. Still, he had actually felt she was gone; after the night when her mask had begun falling off in his hands, the world had become eerily still. Stark had not called him a single time, and he too seemed to have vanished. Not physically, but in the sense that his interest in everything around him, Ukitake included, had disappeared.

It was odd, Ukitake thought. He had fiercely resented his forced interactions with Stark, but the Primera's sudden and complete withdrawal had made him realize the full weight of his house arrest. At least while receiving Stark's painful and humiliating orders, Ukitake had still felt as if he existed, and retained some knowledge of the world around him. The past two weeks had been spent in a void, with naught but the tall grass of the garden keeping him company, and with his vision painfully restricted by the garden wall.

For all he knew, the entirety of Sereitei could have disappeared.

'A bit,' Ukitake answered, feeling oddly guilty over not answering her question in full honesty, and for the fact that he had not missed her presence, but rather, the fact that she'd been, for better or worse, a link to the outside. He wondered whether within the tall walls of his mind, Stark had felt the same, and whether he had gone into hiding because, with Lilinette's absence, he too had lost his links to the world.

The Shinigami shook himself free of that thought, too, then smiled.

'Are you all right?' he asked, trying to focus on the present, but making his question as open as he possibly could have.

Lilinette seemed to grasp the wide net he'd cast, but not mind it; her hesitation in responding, he felt, was not related to any thought on what information she could share, but rather, to the fact that she didn't know where to begin.

'Yup,' she said, with a shrug. 'Really hate the hair,' she mumbled, running her fingers through the blonde tresses and bringing their tips up for inspection. 'I cut it _again_ just this morning, and it grew out in hours. I'm starting to get Stark's mutterings about shaving – no matter what I do to it, it fucking grows. Need to cut it every few hours, else I look like…well,' she shrugged, 'this.'

'Other than that, everything else sucks too,' she added, her shoulders suddenly slumping.

Ukitake unwillingly chuckled.

'I thought you just said you were all right,' he reminded, kindly.

'I'm OK, as in nothing hurts,' the girl answered.

She wistfully looked to the stack of paper in between them; he took the gesture as a prompt, but decided against action on it, discovering he was happy to see her, and that he would have liked to enjoy her company for a little while longer. Not because she brought news of the world, Ukitake discovered, feeling relief, but because…

Well, he thought, because she was growing, and he she made him remember that once, in a distant lifetime, he'd liked seeing things grow.

He stayed away from the line of questioning that interested him most, and ignored the elephant in the room. Instead, he reached for the stack of paper, not drawing it closer, but simply putting his hand on top of it.

'Things not going well at the 3rd?' he asked; the girl scratched her head.

'Well,' she sighed, ''tis with comings and goings, sorta. The peasants are not in _up..uphea…_ there ain't no revolution just yet. I think that's mostly cuz Grimm keeps growlin' at them, tho',' Lilinette honestly admitted. 'And because there isn't much to do. I dunno. Got some of your tea?' she asked, clearly not wanting the tea itself, but a break in the conversation.

Ukitake bit his lower lip, trying very hard to repress a smile.

'The joys of new command usually mandate something stronger,' he heard himself say; sharp pain rose at the fact that the phrase, which had come unbidden, implied that he viewed her position and her doubt as normal and acceptable.

_Which it is not, good Gods,_ Ukitake suddenly remembered. _A Hollow as captain…_

For that was, in fact what she would be – after Kira's desertion, the third was truly deprived of any old leadership figure. Lilinette would be the only one.

_The joys of new command…_

He stood, somewhat too hastily, turning away and heading for the water boiling room, to disguise the storm in his eyes.

Ukitake felt furious at himself for letting himself think what he just had – of naturally making the connection between what she must have been experiencing and his long forgotten first days in command, of looking at her and recognizing the same reluctance and uncertainty that he'd seen in Kaien…

His hands shook so badly that he almost spilled the teapot, and he had to focus on his movements so much that he did not feel Lilinette had followed until she spoke up.

'Thing is,' she said, leaning against the doorframe and crossing her arms over her chest, 'I'm kinda sure you guys went though this as well at some point.'

She didn't notice that he had to put the teapot down for fear of dropping it.

'Ya know,' Lilinette continued, 'standing in front of a bunch of people you don't know, and wondering if they're gonna like ya or not. I don't know why I was even wondering that,' she said.

Ukitake did not know either.

'I mean, it's not like I took that position to be a fucking general, I just wanted to move a bit away from Stark an' give him a break. Wanted to give myself a bit of a break too,' she whispered. 'An' I know that your guys don't expect nothin' of me; maybe that I don't kick them around too much, or maybe that I do, and they got reason to hate _me_, personally, not all of us as a rule…'

'Dunno why I wondered whether they gonna like me or not,' she said. 'They gonna hate me no matter what I do.'

'Yes,' Ukitake said, not turning to look at her. 'They will.'

'Does it mean _I_ shouldn't give a crap?' she asked, and though her question had been honest, and her voice had been soft, he felt the words as if they had been a battering ram. Not against the pain; the pain lingered. Something else, something he could not truly place, was shattered – he laid his hands on either side of the tea pot, feeling the unpolished wood of the counter.

'No, it doesn't.' he responded.

_If she were Kaien, or even Kiyone…_Ukitake thought, _if she were any Shinigami in the same position, seeking the same advice, I would not have hesitated to answer. She's simply trying to grow into something good, and I am on the verge of denying her that._

He picked up the tea pot, and carried it to the fire.

_I am once again ready to only teach the chosen._

'You're full of lessons,' Ukitake said, looking over his shoulder.

'An' mean?' she reminded, not understanding what he had meant to say, but smiling regardless.

'Especially mean,' he reassuringly nodded. 'Also,' he added, painstakingly straightening, 'quite a bit taller.'

'Hm?' Lilinette said, cranking her nose. 'Ya can see that?'

'Sure,' he responded, looking around for something to write with, but settling for a tea cup when he found nothing on hand. 'Here. Stand straight,' he ordered, a bit more decisively than he had intended – Lilinette obeyed, but poked her tongue out to show that his lapse had been noted.

Ukitake pushed her gently against the doorsill, and used the bottom of the teacup to scratch the wood just above her head.

'Next time you visit me,' he said, 'you can see for yourself.'

The girl laughed and nodded.

'Stark would be very happy to see it, too,' Ukitake brought himself to say, immediately regretting the words as the warmth in her eye swiftly vanished, and she moved away.

'Dunno,' Lilinette said, her voice coming from afar. 'Maybe he would. Maybe he wouldn't.'

'What happened?' the Shinigami asked, kindly. 'This change…'

He chose to leave his sentence unfinished, not necessarily because he did not want to influence her answer with his feelings on the matter, but because he truly did not know what to make of it. Two souls, he thought, no, one soul…Always broken in shape, now broken by self imposed distance…

Ukitake imagined that neither of the two would be comfortable with the transformation, moreover, he imagined there must have been some physical discomfort accompanying it as well.

Yet, Lilinette seemed outwardly fine, and he was assured that if Stark had been experiencing a level of discomfort anywhere near the one the Shinigami imagined, his reiatsu would have let the entirety of Sereitei know.

'You do not have to answer,' he said, when she remained quiet and immersed in her thoughts.

Lilinette considered the hidden prompt for a moment, then softly shook her head.

'Then I won't,' she said. 'Can't open _our_ heart to you, Stark would really hate me for that. Plus,' she continued, trying to smile, 'I don't wanna be taking away his choices. If I told you want happened, an'' she added, with a shrug, 'if ya'd believe me, you'd look at him in a way that he doesn't want. Maybe you'd forgive him for the stuff he does and feels,' she said. 'But even I know he doesn't want or need to be forgiven, least of all by you.'

'You'll have to make do with me,' Lilinette conclusively shrugged.

'Sometimes, it is helpful…' Ukitake began; the girl simply grinned wide, reading his mind.

'Dontcha worry, I am not goin' at it alone. I'm talkin' to Grimm about shit, and I'm talking to Apache about shit. Not sure Apache gets anything, to be real honest, but she tries. 's all good.'

The look in her eye assured him it was not the case, but he did not insist. The water in the teapot began to bubble, giving them both an excuse to move away from each other and the conversation. Lilinette turned away, and disappeared into the living room, not adding anything until he returned with the tea. She was sitting on the floor, legs crossed, and looking at him with such honest, wide eyed expectation that the man sighed, put the tea trey down, and found something to write with, before sitting and pulling the stack of paper towards himself.

The first sheet was the quarterly financial report, and Ukitake sighed once more. Whomever was keeping an eye on the 3rd division budget must have been very adamant in wanting _this_ to be solved first.

'Death and taxes,' he said, to no one in particular, then proceeded to read over the numbers – the tea table was too low and the position was uncomfortable; he was assured that by the time he'd go through all of the papers, he'd have a terrible backache. Still, he focused, taking odd pleasure in something he'd previously always loathed.

'Uhm,' Lilinette said, a few moments later.

He looked up, frowning slightly, and being inwardly displeased by the fact that he'd lost track of his sum.

'I didn't mean ya have to do them,' she said, scratching the hack of her head. 'I sorta thought you can teach me to do them…'

'Are you sure?' he asked, his glance turning incredulous. 'This is by far the least entertaining thing I can think of. The paperwork, not teaching you, I mean.'

'Don't worry, I'll still come to see ya even if I know how to do this shit by myself,' she giggled. 'But, yeah. I'm thinking, after all the fun I'm havin' with people muttering behind my back all the fucking time, I oughta at least get something done right. This is a start,' she said, pointing at the papers. 'It's also…'

'Something you can do by yourself,' he completed.

_Something where you can demonstrate some competence, without being hindered by their hostility._

'You really want to do this,' he noted, not thinking of the papers.

Lilinette's eye narrowed.

'You don't gotta teach me,' she said, suddenly understanding the unspoken hesitation, and making him cringe. 'I'm sure,' she continued, looking down, 'that me runnin' a smooth shop is not really in your best interest.'

'No, it is not,' Ukitake responded, softly. 'Because if you do run a smooth shop, it implies that the transformation to this unnatural state of things is beginning to look permanent.'

He bit his lower lip.

'Let's not try to solve for that.' he whispered. 'Let's focus on here and now. And, here and now, you're wrong,' Ukitake said. 'This,' the Shinigami continued, resolutely placing his hand on the stack of paper, 'is not something you can do on your own. In fact, you should not even attempt to.'

'Cuz I'm too dumb?' Lilinette muttered.

'No,' he chuckled, meeting her glance and letting the warmth of his smile assure her that he had truly meant no insult. 'People,' he began, with a deep sigh, 'manifest hostility in many ways. What you have brought me here looks like a year's worth of undone paperwork. Unless the 3rd did no reports in the past six months, which I find doubtful, this stack is simply too high.'

'It will happen,' Ukitake shrugged. 'It happened to me, and it happened to all of us – the people underneath you will always test their limits with a new commander; what you have here is not your workload, but the workload of six people sitting beneath you, who are trying to test you without muttering behind your back.'

'They fully expect you not to know what you should and should not be doing,' he said.

'So they're trying to drown me in their own garbage,' Lilinette sighed.

'Absolutely. At best, you will be incapable of handling it, and your incompetence will be proven, at worst, you will be capable of doing it, even if you work yourself half to death, and they will have the afternoon off.'

'Lose-lose for me, eh?' the girl smirked.

'The first time around, yes,' he conceded. 'But you can turn tables on this particular kind of hostility easily.'

_The rest,_ he thought, _is going to be much harder._

'Let's see,' he said; the girl stood only to sit by his side, then nodded, prompting him to continue. 'Step one – let's see what you should _actually_ be doing.'

He began sorting the paper into different stacks, categorizing reports by content but also trying to remember the signatures of the people on each page: fifth seat Yamada, for budget; Tsumaki for supplies; Hiraku for maintenance. The stack decreased fast, and rule began to surface in the madness – but ten minutes later, he proudly presented Lilinette with perhaps ten sheets of paper which the girl ceremoniously accepted.

'This,' he said, is yours. 'The rest,' he added, pointing at the eight different other stacks, 'is not.'

'Fuckers,' Lilinette growled. 'So, what do I do _now_? Go an' shove this down their throats?'

'You can,' Ukitake said, feeling slightly taken aback. 'Depends how you want to run a smooth shop. You can definitely return to the 3rd and give all the people who tried to bury you under this a dress down, or some other form of punishment. They won't do it again.'

She looked uncertain.

'That's not what you'd do, tho'', she guessed.

'No,' he admitted. 'It is probably what Byakuya…I mean, the cap…former…,' Ukitake painstakingly said.

'Dude at the 6th,' Lilinette nodded, not forcing him to go through with the phrase. 'Bit of a stuck up bastard,' she muttered. 'I think he's gay,' she proclaimed, then withdrew as Ukitake's eyes grew wide in astonishment. 'Not gay-gay, as in Szayel Aporro gay, but gay in sorta, uhm, not cool. Your friend is cool,' she off-handedly offered, noticing that the more she spoke, the more cloudy his glance grew, and clearly not understanding the source of the pain.

He tried to smile.

'You met Shunsui?' Ukitake brought himself to ask.

'Yeah,' she shrugged. 'I think Aizen wanted to give 'em both an extra kick in the tenders by showing me off. I mean, in terms of what the leader of a division is meant to be, he can't go much lower than me.'

'And he wanted them both to know what the world has become,' Ukitake whispered, feeling torn between the anger he felt at the extra humiliation Byakuya and Shunsui had been subjected to, and the bitter regret of the fact Lilinette so precisely understood she'd been no more than an instrument in the humiliation.

'In any event,' Lilinette shrugged, 'your friend didn't give me the stink eye in the first twenty seconds. I guess lookin' like I do helps sometimes.'

'With Shunsui, being female _always_ helps,' Ukitake said, managing a small smile and trying to swallow the bile that suddenly filled his mouth.

She must have sensed the disorder in his heart, for she'd looked away and given him time to gather his thoughts before speaking again.

'I'm sorry,' she softly said, at long length. 'I shouldn't have told ya that.'

'It is not your fault,' he answered. 'If you run across him again…'

'I'll tell him ya miss him a lot,' Lilinette said. 'I can't tell him anything else from you,' she gently reminded. 'But I can definitely tell him that.'

'Yes,' Ukitake accepted. 'Please, do.'

He took a deep breath, and forced his focus on the unforgiving stacks of paper before them.

'What I would do with these,' he said, 'is that I would do them all, _once._'

Lilinette nodded.

'Then, I'd call all of the people in, separately, and hand the done work back to them.'

'Aha!' she exclaimed. 'You're sneaky, you!'

His smile gained some strength.

'This way,' Lilinette continued, 'you let 'em know ya see what they're doin', and not buyin' it.'

'Yes,' he nodded. 'You can even do that twice – in a sense,' he said, 'going through all this is hard and unnecessary, but teaches you the ropes. If you run this exercise a few times, you'll understand what all the pieces of the machine are, separately, and how they should be moving together. And it is not difficult. Resources,' he said, pointing to the first stack, 'tells you who is doing what. Supplies – people need to eat and can't go around naked.'

Lilinette giggled.

'Maintenance,' Ukitake followed.

'Stuff gets broken,' she nodded.

'And budget that keeps them all in line,' he concluded. 'Once you understand how all things build up, you will be able to do no more than your ten pieces of paper, and you will be fine. And that,' he gently added, 'is how I would turn a lose-lose into a win-win. If you fight your way though all of this, they can do no more than grudgingly accept that you are competent, or at least understand things.'

'An' by handing it back to them, done, ya tell 'em they can't be biting your ass.'

'That too,' he said. 'But authority is only part enforcement, I think. It's also empowerment. These people know how to do their work; by not letting them pass it on to you, you not only free yourself, but you show them that you trust them to do it, that you depend on them, and don't resent the dependency.'

'Did that work for ya?' she asked, with a little incredulous smirk.

'It had to,' he honestly answered. 'I had many weeks when I could not even do my own ten pages…'

'It's also that you were God to your folks,' Lilinette muttered.

He shied away from the thought.

'I don't think…'he shakily began.

'That has a lot to do with it, dude.' She interrupted. 'Like you are, there ain't no question people would trip over themselves to help ya out. And they'd like ya to trust them and depend on them.'

'I guess they once did, yes,' he said, pleading with her to put a painful subject to rest.

'I'd like ya to trust me,' Lilinette offered. 'I know it's not much, and' it doesn't make up for all the other things…Right, OK, I'm pulling an _as sensitive as a rock_ Grimm right now,' she observed, mostly to herself. 'Gotta back off.'

He nodded gratefully, but felt relief overly soon; her next words caught him completely by surprise.

'Tho'…' Lilinette said, with a stubborn frown, 'if you spend your time thinkin' only of how everything sucks, and how everything was better _before,_ then everything's just gonna keep sucking. You gotta start adjusting at some point, eh.'

'There are some things that one cannot adjust to, Lilinette,' he answered. 'That one does not want or think one should adjust to.'

'Right, so, the fact that I really wanna trust ya means nothing, cuz the only people whose trust you want are your people.'

'I did not say that,' he replied.

'Yeah,' she said, pursing her lips. 'That's exactly what ya said. Though you didn't mean it, and I know you didn't. Else we wouldn't be sittin' here, _not_ having tea.'

She looked away; oddly enough, he sensed no anger from her side, and her energy did not carry any particular amount of sadness.

'You will be seeing a lot more of that, and in far more aggressive forms,' he admitted, at length. 'I feel I should apologise, but at the same time, I do not. Some people will say it, but not mean it. Others will say it, mean it, and will never be persuaded of anything else. You will need to quickly identify the latter, and not waste any energy on them.'

'What if it's the whole lot of 'em?' Lilinette querried.

'It likely will be,' he nodded. 'How is Jagguerjaques handling himself?'

'He's snapping at 'em like it's the end of the world,' she shrugged. 'But that's what Grimm always does; he claws an' snaps at everything till he finds someone who stands up to him. When he does, he gives respect.'

'I hope he has not…'Ukitake said, suddenly feeling frightened by the prospect that the Arrancar who had all but killed Kuchiki Rukia was loose amid entities far weaker than himself. On hind thought, the Shinigami acknowledged, it was particularly hard to reconcile Jagguerjaques with _Grimm_.

'Na,' Lilinette answered, with assurance that put Ukitake's mind at ease. 'He ain't done anything to anyone. Well,' she chuckled. 'if you don't count punching out the guy who brought _him_ these.' She finished, pointing at the papers. 'Think the dude got the message real fast, cuz he brought them to me, next.'

'Grimmjow,' she explained, reverting to the Sexta's full name, 'has no self restraint, and he likes putting his dick through walls.'

Ukitake frowned at the language; the girl simply shrugged.

'The 3rd has no walls, though,' she continued. 'They're all too weak to even register on Grimmjow's radar, so he is not doing anything. Not because he's a good guy, in your sense, but because he's not seeing anyone worth doing anything to.'

'Good,' the Shinigami nodded. 'That should help, or at least not hinder to some extent.'

He drew a deep breath.

'Let's start with something easy,' he said, grabbing the first stack of papers. 'Maintenance.'

Lilinette inched closer, and reached for the now cold tea.

'Oh boy,' she said, after catching a glimpse of the long list of construction materials which topped the stack; Ukitake shrugged.

'Stuff gets broken,' he said, feeling amused. 'It is what it is.'

Noon grew into evening, then into night; they had tea, and only moved away from the table for long enough to prepare a light evening meal – he was so absorbed in explaining purchasing orders, that he only noticed she'd found her way around his kitchen and peeled the potatoes when she'd placed the little bowl by his side.

As the evening progressed, he noticed her getting tired, but not bored, and had plenty of occasion to note her intelligence was not only instinctual. Lilinette's mind, he thought, not being able to repress a saddening memory of Stark, was blank, but definitely not empty. In truth, he felt as if she absorbed information so fast because she already knew where to place it, and that the longer he explained, he did no more than activate mental connections that were already present, and which had previously led nowhere.

He was also stunned to see that her eye for detail was even better than his, and felt somewhat ashamed when, after having been through the entire stack of purchase orders, Lilinette extracted three out of the fifty which contained the exact same materials for the exact same stated purpose, and quickly concluded that something was afoot in the eastern barracks.

'They're either buildin' up a house only to tear it down an' build it again, or they're tryin' to make a scale reproduction of the Kuchiki palace, or…' she had giggled, 'someone's dipping into the cookie jar.'

'I missed that,' Ukitake had frowned.

'Or maybe they're buildin' me a statue!' Lilinette had laughed out loud; he'd chuckled in return.

'I think option number three is the more logically likely one,' he'd responded, with a light shrug. 'Or it could be that this…Hiraku fellow,' he'd said, taking a glimpse at the name on the top of the pages, 'is playing an attention game. Whichever it is, he'll be shocked that you caught it.'

_Just like I am,_ he'd thought, but hadn't said. Instead, he'd reached for another roasted potato, and moved on to the next stack.

When they finally finished, and the last line on the quarterly financial report had been checked, it had been close to midnight. Lilinette yawned without covering her mouth, and stretched, forcing him to look away from her chest in sudden embarrassment.

'Cool stuff!' she concluded, with far more enthusiasm than having trawled through a mountain of paper warranted. 'I won't remember any of this shit in the morning, tho…' the girl sighed, throwing him a suggestive glance.

'I'll be here,' Ukitake answered, gladly taking the prompt.

She nodded, with the same enthusiasm, and he glanced at the neatly arranged papers, feeling almost sorry that the work was now truly done. In a sense, he thought, he'd learned more about what was happening in the world outside his walls in this one afternoon than he had in months – for as much as he'd always disliked money trails, materials and supplies, the way in which they ran was always a faithful mirror to the inner workings of society. By simply looking at the papers, he'd gotten the deeply pleasing impression that Aizen's world was not running as smoothly as Aizen might have liked. Requisition orders went unanswered, and the extraordinary security measures that kept the divisions separated from each other and Rukongai strangled normal supply channels, provoking discomfort to all. People, he thought, remembering that Tsumaki, the supply officer, had put in the very same order for new uniforms every day for the past month – an extreme form of bureaucratic harassment – were grumbling under the new thumb.

And that, Ukitake thought, wondering if perhaps his intuition was no more than wishful thinking, but allowing himself the comfort, was really good news. Precisely the kind of news that Aizen would not have liked to spread.

More importantly, though the lines, he'd read of additional secure warehouses being built on the grounds of the 3rd – sekki stone had been budgeted for in unusual abundance, which seemed to point that whatever the new warehouses were intended for, they'd have to hide a large amount of reiatsu.

_The confiscated zanpakutoh. That's where he wants to put them._

He took in Lilinette's smile, feeling guilty; she probably did not think of the boon she had just given him, and that, if he was wise, she would continue to give. Stark, who was probably the least bureaucratically inclined creature on the face of the planet, had been far wiser than Lilinette, and either suffered through the paperwork alone, or found a trustworthy Arrancar to process it for him, probably understanding the wealth of information that the seemingly useless reports carried.

_I don't want to use you, little one,_ he spoke to her in his thoughts. _But I have no other options. I hope you will forgive me when you understand._

And she would understand, Ukitake accepted. Sooner rather than later.

'Getting' sleepy?' she asked, misreading his distant gaze. His stomach tightened.

'A bit, yes,' he answered, swallowing dry.

'Then I'll let ya go to bed,' she nodded, starting to reform her foot tall stack of paper; though she was not pointedly watching her movements, Ukitake noted that she was making sure that the eight different piles stayed separated.

_You really want to do this…_

He pressed his fingers to his lips. Lilinette thought he was disguising a yawn.

'All right, all right, kick me out why dontcha…' the girl laughed. 'Fucking hell!' she exclaimed as she stood, and half her hair unwound to reach below the lower part of her vest. 'Think I'm gonna shave my head,' she muttered.

'That would not look very fetching,' Ukitake heard himself say. The words gave her pause, and she looked at him with an expression he could not quite place.

The silence between them was awkward, for the very first time.

'How would ya like it, then?' she asked.

He did not know what to say, but spoke without thinking.

'Maybe you could braid it and put it over your right shoulder,' Ukitake said. 'That way, you wouldn't have to watch out for its growth all the time, and you could also hide that the other side is shorter.'

'I'd still have to comb it and braid it,' Lilinette protested, in a way which demonstrated that there was little that she could think of that would annoy her more.

'You're a woman,' he shrugged, not understanding why her reiatsu had suddenly turned cold. 'Combing comes with the territory?' he asked, defensively lifting his hands, and feeling more confused by the second.

She continued to stare at him blankly, clutching the papers to her chest.

'Thank you,' Lilinette said. Neither knew what she was thanking him for.

The girl turned to leave, and opened the door to the garden.

_Typical_, Ukitake thought. _We have a proper door and a gate, but she's going to jump the fence, with twenty pounds of paper in her arms._

'Lilinette?' he said.

She looked over her shoulder.

'Doing this once is fine,' Ukitake said, gesturing towards the paper in her arms. 'Twice is also fine. But if, after you have returned their done work to them the second time, they come to you the third time, and try to drown you in their garbage…'

'Yeah?' she asked, clutching the papers even tighter.

'Control your temper. Don't explode on them,' Ukitake said dryly.

He sustained her glance, and narrowed his eyes.

'Let Jagguerjaques do the exploding for you.'

_Use what you are given. All that you are given._

She vanished before he could decide if he had seen her nod.

* * *

Up next - The 3rd Division is in trouble.


	23. Improbable

Hello - and oh boy, was it lyrical so far. Well, no more. It is now time for action.

Thank you all for reading and commenting. It is time for chapter 24

Where - We introduce a brand new char. (also, language warning. Like only Lili & Grimm can deliver)

* * *

'Hey...Hey!' he heard, without recognising the voice.

It all then happened surprisingly fast – the weight that was crushing his chest vanished, letting breath and vision return. His ears still thumping, Matsuo Asegawa rolled to his side and coughed, remaining oblivious to what was happening around him.

It did not much matter, anyway.

He was still tasting blood, and, as he turned, he sensed one of his ribs was awkwardly pressing inward – for a moment, he thought of ignoring the sensation, but as more of his weight came to lean on the injured side, he felt the bone stabbing at his entrails. He instinctively pressed his spread and shaky fingers to the mattress, not noticing that they were covered in blood, and desperately pushed himself on his back. The world was still spinning at amazing speed.

'I said – what the fuck is this?' the same shrill voice asked.

Matsuo forced himself to focus.

The large, heavily muscled Arrancar who had been all but standing on Matsuo's chest was still no more than two feet away; his shadow, which stretched over the battered Shinigami, felt as heavy and as threatening as his body.

_How did we come to this, again?_ Matsuo wondered.

The answer was very simple, really – he didn't actually know. The common room of the 3rd had been full of Shinigami when three Arrancar had walked in and ordered all to leave. Someone – Matsuo vaguely recalled it might have been himself, had told them that they had no automatic right to the premises. Not many words had been exchanged after, and the memory that burned even above the myriad pains that racked through his body was the fact that in the crucial moment when the three had headed for him he'd hesitated in drawing his sword.

He'd been afraid to, actually.

Not afraid of harm that might have come to him, Matsuo thought, feeling the weight of the looming shadow. But of harm that would come to all others; Gods knew that the 3rd had suffered so much betrayal, so much pain and so much abandonment, that the others didn't deserve punishment simply because he couldn't keep his tongue in check. As the first punch had connected to his stomach, he'd thought of nothing but that.

_Better me than all of us,_ he'd thought.

He blinked, then forced his eyes open.

Apparently, the rest had thought the same – a few figures clad in black still stood in awe, having retreated to the farthest corners of the room.

'They wouldn't get out of the way,' the voice of the large Arrancar boomed from above. 'So we were making room.'

'And you ain't heard of speakin'?'

Matsuo could all but make out the other figure now, but, for a moment, he could not actually bring himself to believe what he was seeing. Then, as consciousness slowly returned, he remembered that he'd seen _her_, the improbable little girl, before. She was supposed to be his new captain.

Indeed. After Ichimaru Gin had betrayed him, and Kira Izuru had abandoned him, he was under the command of a Hollow.

'No speaking necessary,' Matsuo's attacker drawled. 'This is our room now.'

'Says who?' she asked; as he vaguely remembered that he had asked the same, the beaten Shinigami trawled his mind for the girl's name. 'Far as I know, dude, your room is what I say is your room, an' I don't remember sayin' you could have this one. I don't remember ya asking, for that matter. Or?'

The shadow turned, and the other two drew closer, mercifully turning away from Matsuo, but closing in about the young girl; she was barely shoulder high to the Arrancar whose fists had reduced Matsuo to a pulp, and, amid the three, she looked incredibly small and frail.

Somehow, though, she did not seem to realize the difference in strength and gait, for she did not move an inch.

_They would not turn on each other, would they_? The Shinigami thought. _She is, after all…_

Reality offered swift contradiction to his unfinished thought.

'Let's get serious, Lilinette,' the large one said, in open amusement.

_Right_, Matsuo thought, _the name's Lilinette_.

'If you think we are going to ask you…'

'Sorry – didn't catch that,' she interrupted, stepping up to the other, and making the difference in their sizes even more painfully obvious. 'Wanna say it again, Avirama?'

The large Arrancar's eyes narrowed in what seemed to be amusement and just a mild hint of incredulous annoyance.

'You are not our commander,' Avirama said. 'His Majesty, Barragan-sama…'

The girl propped a hand to her hip, and waved the other by the side of her ear.

'I'm still hearin' buzzing,' she hissed.

'Oh, I think you heard him,' one of the other two, who was almost too tall to be inside the room, and had to keep his shoulders bent, said. 'It's better for you if you don't make a scene.'

She frowned – heat began to gather, rising from the floor beneath him and from the walls of the room, and concentrating around her. The three exchanged an amused glance, and Avirama inched even closer, forcing her to look up.

'You are not our commander,' Avirama repeated, slowly, and obviously taking pleasure in the words.

'I think Gin and Aizen-sama say different,' Lilinette responded.

'Gin and Aizen-sama can go fuck themselves.' Avirama said, proudly raising his chin. 'Barragan-sama is _my_ only commander; he said we go where we like and we do what we please, and crush all the flies that get in our way. Like this one,' he added, turning to give Matsuo a painful kick to his already broken ribs.

The Shinigami's pained moan went unheard.

'There is no way that I will take orders from anyone but him. Certainly,' the man said, with a cruel grin, 'not from the likes of you, kid.'

'Scat,' the extremely tall one said, leaning in over her. His fist was the size of her head. 'Avirama's got a job to finish.'

'I think not,' Lilinette answered. Her voice, and her entire body seemed to vibrate, ever so slightly, and her contours were oddly and minutely blurred, as if she had been standing in bright, wavering sunlight. 'I think you're done. This room ain't yours,' she shrugged. 'Cuz I've just decided on the matter – and what I say goes. So, all of y'all are gonna turn around, go to your part of the barracks and sit there quietly, till I figure out if I should go up to the First and tell Aizen-sama what you think he should be doin' with his time.'

'You're funny,' Avirama chuckled, trying to pat her on the head. The girl evaded, her pink eye reduced to the size of a sword's edge.

'Yes, I am…_funny_.' she said – a strange shadow drifted across her face. 'Not funny as in amusing, but funny as in _you'd better not fuck with me _strange and dangerous funny. In case it slipped your mind, I am not a Fraccion, dude.' she hissed, 'I am the Primera.'

The words seemed to take them aback, and the three exchanged a glance of a different flavor – uncertainty eerily rose in the air for a mere second, before Avirama let out a low growl, scattering all trace of doubt.

'You are not Stark,' he said, dismissing all other thoughts, and giving weight to his refusal by once more turning on Matsuo. The Shinigami looked up, swallowing his blood, and praying that he would die without the humiliation of hearing himself yelp in pain. He thought he hadn't so far. He could not really be sure.

Then, the world was turned upside down.

Moving at the speed of light, Lilinette came up on Avirama's back, and swept him off his feet with a precise and incredibly powerful kick to his ankles. The large Arrancar fell back heavily, and, by the time the back of his mask connected with the floor, Lilinette had already circled around him. She kicked him in the center of the chest, with such strength that Avirama spit blood and bounced off the floor as if he'd been made out of some sort of elastic material. The other two had barely had the time to turn.

The odd blur that surrounded Lilinette's body was getting more pronounced now, and as she sat over Avirama's chest, her contours seemed to be phasing in and out of physical reality – still there was nothing hesitant in the way in which she grabbed Avirama by the remnants of the mask which ran across his cheeks, and lifted his head off the floor.

His eyes were wide with surprise.

'By the time I'm done with ya,' she said, 'ya gonna wish I was Stark.'

She hoisted his shoulders off the floor, and punched. Not to the face, but to the throat – at the precise moment of contact, her tiny fist phased away completely, turning to no more than golden light which slipped seamlessly through his flesh, only to reform on the other side.

Avirama opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out.

Lilinette's arm had half disappeared inside his neck, and she leaned her fist on the floor, under his head, bending over him with a wide, cruel grin on her pretty features.

'What's that you say?' she whispered. 'Ya lost your voice, or ya got something in your throat? Motherfucker,' Lilinette hissed. 'Want me to take it out, huh?'

Avirama couldn't breathe, but he still opened his mouth, and gasped, trying to draw air in around the solid barrier that blocked his windpipe.

'Want me to take it out?' Lilinette asked again.

He desperately shook his head, and continued to uselessly open his mouth. His chest heaved underneath her, and the other two Arrancar were frozen in shock.

'What do ya know, Avirama,' the girl giggled. 'You ain't a falcon, you're a fucking gold fish!'

She straightened, forcing his entire upper body along with the movement.

'I think we'll have a better conversation if I'm the one talking,' Lilinette said; not taking note of the increasing horror in his eyes, she began to rise to her feet, dragging him along. She kept her arm stretched before her and pointed downwards, only allowing him to get to his knees, and though she was still tiny, and impossibly frail, she looked down on the massive muscled figure as if he'd been a fly.

'Let's get stuff straight,' she said. 'Until further notice, you don't do what you like. You do what _I_ tell ya. You don't go where you please, you stay where I put ya. I don't care what Barragan thought he was in his empty skull, and I don't care what shit he put in your empty skull.'

The continued lack of air had begun to take its toll – Avirama shivered, and his body glistened with sweat, a small trickle of blood running down, and crossing equally red tattoos.

'I don't care if you still think Barragan's your king,' Lilinette continued. 'Ya can think whatever you like, as long as you remember that I _am_ the Primera, and, for future reference, that for as long as you sit in my division, I am your fucking _God_. Clear?' she asked. 'Clear?' she repeated, jerking her arm back for a mere inch, but causing him to choke; blood appeared around the place where her hand crossed into his throat, spreading a dark hue on the silk of her glove.

Avirama pleadingly looked up, and Matsuo thought he saw tears.

'Nodding will do,' Lilinette hissed.

Avirama nodded, looking over her shoulder.

_Big mistake_, Matsuo thought – her strange, half-head long hair whipping about her figure, Lilinette turned and stretched her other arm outward.

'Cero,' she said, with impeccable calm; the light that streamed from her fingers hit the tall, lumbering Arrancar squarely in the shoulder, and projected him across the room as if he'd been a feather. The Shinigami who'd been watching the scene in awe barely had time to get out of the way, before the large body smashed into the wall, causing the entire structure to tremble. They withdrew further, expecting him to get up, but he did not; he remained heaped to the floor, smoke and choking smell of burned flesh rising from his body.

'Please,' the third Arrancar suddenly said, hastily when her furious glance turned to him. 'I don't got no fight with ya. I don't got no fight,' he repeated, withdrawing even further.

'Chicken,' she spat.

She looked to Avirama's utterly crushed and now genuinely pleading features for a second longer, then propped her foot to his shoulder, peeling him off her arm. He slumped to the floor, clutching his hands to his throat as quickly as he could, but not fast enough for Matsuo not to notice his neck looked unscathed.

'Grab your mess and go sit where I told ya,' she said to the third Arrancar.

The speed at which he rushed to obey, dragging his injured companions along with him was a marvel of nature. They limped away, only briefly stopping when they noted the door was blocked by another shadow; the outside light was too bright for Matsuo to fully catch a glimpse of the figure in the doorway. Still, the shadow that stretched indoors left no doubt over the nature of the creature, for a large, perfect hole was cut in its otherwise solid darkness.

'Owned,' the newcomer said, not hurrying to get out of the way of the pitiful little convoy.

Matsuo closed his eyes, feeling the floor vibrate with the approaching steps of other Arrancar.

_Grimmjow_, he recalled. _Grimmjow…_

'Looks like the one at a time rule don't apply no more,' Grimmjow said, after a sharp, appreciative whistle.

'Well,' Lilinette grunted, 'wouldn't have minded some intervention, dude.'

The Shinigami sensed her kneeling by his side, and instinctively tried to pull away – the broken rib jabbed sharply at his lung, and he yelped.

'You didn't need any,' Grimmjow said. 'Also, if ya needed it, there was plenty of people in the room who could've jumped – what's with ya lot?' he grunted, clearly addressing the other Shinigami. Through half lidded eyes, Matsuo imagined he saw the dark clad shadows of his companions drawing away towards the walls. 'Ya all chicken shit? How d'ya let those three walk over the whole lot of you like that?'

'Yeh, you guys,' Lilinette chimed, spreading Matsuo on his back, but not looking at him and ignoring all pitiful attempts at resistance. 'How'd you let them reduce your mate like this? That's not on!'

'We are forbidden from drawing on any Arrancar,' someone angrily said – a murmur of approval rose from the small group. 'Provoking a fight is classed as disobedience, and will lead to decimation,' the person continued, stepping up.

'Says who?' Grimmjow inquired.

'The New Central,' the man responded. 'Essentially, _you.'_

Matsuo opened his eyes, looking towards his companion, as if to warn him off being so forward – he felt he was too late. Hands shoved in his pockets, Grimmjow spun on his heels and slowly headed for the young man. As if the Sexta presence had been a physical wall, the group of Shinigami took a step back, leaving the daring one alone.

Grimmjow smirked at the movement, and sniffed curiously at the air.

'Name,' he said, dryly.

'Takeshi,' the young one responded, sustaining Grimmjow's glance.

'I can wipe the floor with you, Takeshi,' the Sexta said. 'You ain't got no reiatsu, when compared to me.'

'I am well aware of that, Sir.' Takeshi answered, swallowing dry.

'Fucking hell!' the Sexta suddenly cursed. 'Name's Grimmjow Jagguerjaques, not Sir, or your majesty, or Kami-sama! She's Kami-sama,' he added, with a wolfish grin, waving his hand in Lilinette's general direction.

The girl grinned; her little hand was drifting over Matsuo's chest, spreading soft and irresistibly pleasant heat – despite himself, the beaten Shinigami thought she was pretty.

'So you think ya got your balls on ya, do ya, Takeshi?' Grimmjow inquired, still eerily sniffing at the air.

The Shinigami hesitated.

'I think they are pretty well attached still, S…'

Grimmjow lifted both eyebrows, cutting him short, and Takeshi swallowed the rest of the word.

'How come ya didn't have your balls on ya ten minutes ago?' the Sexta shot, not looking at the young man that was standing before him, but at the rest of the group.

He circled Takeshi, keeping him in his sights; the young Shinigami slowly lowered his glance.

'We have been through much,' he said.

The Sexta stopped circling, and lifted his glance to the Shinigami's face. Takeshi himself kept staring at the floor, and remained silent.

'Come on, then, don't forget ya suddenly got your balls back,' Grimmjow prompted, after another second of heavy silence. 'Let's hear it, dude.'

Unwillingly, Matsuo sighed with pleasure, and opened his eyes to look into Lilinette's as her hand lingered over his broken rib.

'It…stopped…' he whispered, in a voice he barely recognized as his own – the girl grinned smugly.

'Yeh,' she shrugged. 'Hold on a minute, am tryin' to fix you all up, huh?'

'Captain Ichimaru broke all of our hearts,' Takeshi spoke up; his gathered courage faded when faced with Grimmjow's abrupt chuckle.

'Women,' the Sexta muttered.

'Hey!' Lilinette suddenly perked.

'Is with the hormones, dude,' Grimmjow shrugged.

'…for months, we were all regarded with suspicion, as if we too were about to turn on everything that was our lives,' Takeshi breathed. 'For months we were shunned, and for months we had to work twice harder than all others just to be noticed. We were not even thought trustworthy enough to enter battle against…'

He once more lowered his glance.

'Against you,' he said, immediately cringing, as if he'd expected to be punched. Grimmjow simply shrugged. 'We're the losers of a war we didn't even get the right to fight.'

'Yeh,' Grimmjow said.

'Then, vice-captain Kira deserted us,' Takeshi continued, 'and we were decimated for no fault of our own…'

'Yeh, dude,' Grimmjow muttered. 'Life's shit. What are ya tryin' to tell me?'

'Sir, I am trying to tell you that being called cowards because we are weary, betrayed and fearful is not very fair, Sir!' Takeshi exploded. 'We have orders not to draw against you in any circumstances, and we are complying with those bloody orders, Sir!'

'Call me Sir one more time and I'll punch a hole through your forehead!' Grimmjow exploded in turn, grabbing Takeshi by the chest of his kimono.

'Yo, Grimm!' Lilinette exclaimed, moving away from Matsuo's side so quickly that the Shinigami only felt the blow of her Sonido.

'Feel free to do that, Sir! Can't get any fucking worse than watching your friend being beaten to an inch of his life, Sir!' the young Shinigami shouted back, grabbing hold of Grimmjow's vest in turn.

'Whoo, everybody chill now!' the girl said, trying to get in between the two. 'Yo!' she exclaimed, when her efforts at pushing them apart failed miserably. 'Chill!' she screamed, stepping on Grimmjow's foot, and lodging her elbow in Takeshi's chest.

Both yelped at the same time and jumped a step backwards.

'Bitch!' Lilinette exclaimed, at no one in particular. 'Look ya guys,' she began, 'this can't go down like _this_! I know we don't talk much, but that's not from our side – still, we ain't never told ya ya can't defend yourselves!' she said, looking about herself in frustration, and seeking to meet the glances of the other Shinigami. They all looked away from her – she swallowed dry, but was not fully discouraged.

'As far as you're concerned whatever the Central says comes through us,' she added, hotly. 'And we ain't never told you you have to watch your mates getting beat up and can't help them. Your mates stay your mates, defend them, what the fuck!'

'We are all just very demoralized,' Takeshi whispered. 'But we are not cowards,' he added, softly; he sought and met her glance, and the pleading look in his companion's eyes brought a bitter taste to Matsuo's lips. 'We are not cowards,' Takeshi repeated, looking towards Matsuo himself – despite the lingering pain, and the odd sensation that his body was drifting in a void, Matsuo nodded.

_I know. I know._

'Fucking weak!' Grimmjow exploded.

'Grimm,' Lilinette muttered.

'Grimm – nothin',' the Sexta furiously responded, once more showing his hands in his pockets. 'Ya got me into this mess,' he said, frowning at Lilinette. 'I didn't wanna lord over nobody an' I was perfectly happy gettin' drunk and doin' Apache – and now you're trying to tell me that I'm gonna lord over a bunch of guys who let Barragan's shit heads walk all over them?'

'I didn't think ya cared,' Lilinette shrugged.

''Course I care,' the Sexta said. 'Ain't no way I'm gonna have my guys have smaller balls than Abirama and Po! Ain't even sure Po's got a…'

'Hey!' Lilinette yelled.

'Whatever!' Grimmjow huffed, walking past her, and standing before Takeshi – the young Shinigami sustained the Sexta's glance, clenching his teeth. 'Ya got ya balls on, huh?' Grimmjow spat.

'Very well attached, _Sir.' _Takeshi hissed.

'Fine,' the Sexta snarled. 'Bring'em with ya to the practice room. Tomorrow.'

He thought about it for a second.

''Round noon!' he decisively commanded. 'All of you,' he said, looking around. 'And you especially, Takeshi! Ya gonna get…ya gonna see what ya gonna get, bloody hell, gonna kick you so hard you'll be shittin' teeth for a month…'

Grimmjow spun around, and walked away, still muttering and cursing to himself. Lilinette giggled, then, unexpectedly Takeshi took a step on the Sexta's trail.

'Training sessions begin at seven o'clock, sharp, Sir.'

The Sexta stopped short, freezing in mid-step.

Takeshi cringed, and, despite himself, Matsuo was sure, looked towards Lilinette, as if hoping she would tell him whether he'd gone too far.

Matsuo held his breath as Grimmjow began to turn, slowly; the other Shinigami drew one more step back, and blinding light flashed across the fangs of his mask, only to reflect along the improbably long and sharp canines his wide grin revealed.

'Call me Grimm,' Grimmjow said. 'Call me Grimm when I see ya at seven.'

* * *

Up next - I'm cringing. Are you cringing?


	24. Very Demotivational

Hey, hey there ladies and gentlemen (all three of you - seriously feeling outnumbered here), IVI here.

This week's agenda is the abuse of perfectly good alcohol by OC's and a field test of the phrase, "The beatings will continue until morale improves."

* * *

The Shinigami stood aligned in two perfect rows, with their hands clenched behind their backs and perfectly straight shoulders. They looked oddly non descript in the early morning light, and their energies felt non descript too – nonetheless, the uniform flavour of their reiatsu was easy enough to read, and the entire group spread out an homogenous aggressive front.

Strength in numbers, Lilinette thought, shooting an amused glance up at Grimmjow.

'Right,' the Sexta said – his nostrils were flaring, and she guessed he was sniffing out if any Shinigami that were lined up before him were worth a fight. She already sensed that none of them were, else the group in overall might have had a stronger scent. Still, her nose for individuals was not as good as Grimmjow's, and Shinigami were strange creatures, from a reiatsu build-up point of view, what with their double personality swords, and their weird, learned and unnatural ceros.

'First thing we gotta do with those guys,' the Sexta said, 'is to stop them from lining up like that. It's creepy so early in the morning, that's what it is. Ya'd have thought that Gin's shop would look different.'

'This ain't been Gin's shop for a while,' Lilinette shrugged.

'…fucking early…,'Grimmjow mumbled, making her chuckle.

'Ya starting to sound like Stark, man, what the hell!'

'Well, it's seven o'clock in the morning – an' don't ya start manhandling my balls as if I were Stark,' he warned. 'Sorry display, the lot of them,' he smirked, assessing the assembled 3rd Division through narrowed eyes. 'Oh, ya never gonna hear the end of makin' me do this…'

'Wha'd _I_ make ya do? Ya wanted to bring these guys out!' she rightfully pointed. 'And why did ya want them out in the yard for? It's cold…'

'…bloody fucking early…'the Sexta grunted, cutting that particular line of conversation short. He shot another quick glance to the line of Shinigami, then shook his head, and let out a dry chuckle. 'Get a load of 'em,' he said, turning to the side. 'D'ya smell that?'

The aggression in the air had suddenly gotten more poignant.

'They fancy they can show us a thing or two,' Grimmjow laughed, long sharp canines in full display. 'Takeshi!' he yelled, loud enough to wake up the entirety of Sereitei. Jaws squarely clenched, the young Shinigami stepped up.

Lilinette cringed.

'Dude, maybe you oughta go easy…' she whispered, pulling on Grimmjow's sleeve.

'Easy?' the Sexta laughed once more. 'I don't know that word, kiddo. This…' he said, gritting his teeth and stepping up in his turn, only to throw a worrisome, wolfish grin over his shoulder, 'is gonna be humiliation with suffering. Right, ya lot of useless chickens!' he shouted, looking pleased with the fact that his words had managed to stir the Shinigamis' energies. '…and lead hen,' he added, grinning in Takeshi's direction.

'Nice to see y'all smell like you woke up on the right side of the bed. Not that it's gonna help ya, but…'

Lilinette sought Matsuo in the line, hoping that the Shinigami himself or Szayel Aporro were bright enough to realize that whatever recovery Matsuo might have made, he was in no condition to be moving about. She was displeased when she found him, somewhere in the second row, looking bruised and pale, but she withheld a frown and tried to smile in his direction. The Shinigami responded in no way.

'The purpose of this morning,' Grimmjow picked up, 'is to make sure all of y'all know exactly why ya lost the war…well, aside for the bleeding obvious, like, you ain't got enough reiatsu to fill Lilinette's tiny vest…'

'Yo!' she exclaimed. 'Watch it!'

He simply looked over his shoulder, winked and grinned wide.

'I reckon you think ya can show me a thing or two as well,' the Sexta said, snappily turning his head towards the Shinigami, his features suddenly straight. 'So, let's get it on. If nothing, by the end of the day we'll know each other a bit better. Or, more likely,' Grimmjow laughed, 'your asses and my boot are gonna be on fucking intimate terms…'

'I'd like to volunteer,' Takeshi briefly said.

'What for?' Grimmjow scowled.

The Shinigami's intervention had somehow made his companions bolder, Lilinette noted – there had been no noticeable movement, but as soon as Takeshi had spoken up, the entire group had straightened their shoulders and lifted their glances.

'To be the first…' Takeshi said – Grimmjow stared at him for a moment.

'Ya wanna have a go at me?' the Sexta inquired, lifting both eyebrows. From behind him, Lilinette met Takeshi's glance, and without caring she was in plain sight of the entire group, lifted her palms and quickly shook her head.

'_Not_ a good idea,' she mouthed; the Shinigami frowned and moved his determined glance to Grimmjow, taking no note of Lilinette's warning.

'That's impressively dumb,' Grimmjow snickered.

'As 4th seat, and highest ranking officer of the division, I believe…' the Shinigami began again, gritting his teeth.

'You believe you're gonna get a nice and free military funeral,' the Sexta interrupted, waving Takeshi's words away. He sustained the Shinigami's steely glance for a second longer, then broke eye contact and snickered ominously to himself. 'Maybe later,' he unexpectedly conceded. 'For now though,' he continued, looking towards the group, 'here's what we gonna do. Y'all see that pole over there?' Grimmjow asked, pointing at a wooden pillar that stood a hundred feet away, at the opposite side of the courtyard.

Takeshi frowned and nodded.

'Good,' the Sexta said. 'Your goal of the day is to defend _that_, by any means ya see fit.'

'Excuse me?' the Shinigami frowned.

'That's right,' Grimmjow nodded, starting to stride along the line, hands deeply shoved in his pockets – the Shinigamis' reiatsu was getting intense, waves of energy rising and falling with their breath. 'What's the matter? Too ambitious for seven o'clock in the morning?'

'There are sixty of us,' Takeshi said, dryly.

'An', what? Ya got more mates you wanna bring along?' Grimmjow inquired, stopping and looking over his shoulder in open curiosity.

'I am unsure whether I completely understood the description of the exercise,' Takeshi responded, in a low, menacing voice. 'Is it your intention that _all_ of us face the two of you?'

'No,' Grimmjow slowly drawled, his features beginning to spread into a grin which foretold no good. 'Not the two of us – that would be overkill. Just me.'

A murmur of disapproval coursed along the two lines of Shinigami, and their disciplined, frozen poses broke for a moment as they exchanged glances – some in incredulous amusement, some in outright anger. Takeshi himself inched forward, not managing to keep the incensed look off his features.

'With all due…respect,' he hissed, pausing before he added on the insincere final word, 'you cannot _possibly_ believe that you can face us all down…'

Grimmjow measured him through half lidded eyes without producing an answer, then shifted his glance to the aligned Shinigami.

'To be fair to y'all, I ain't gonna use Cero,' he continued, causing the group to stir in growing impatience. 'There's a pot of paint over there,' he said, carelessly indicating the foot of the courtyard wall. 'The exercise is over if I get to touch the pole – paint's gonna be the marker. As for you guys, ya can use whatever you want – your swords, your fireworks or whatever rocks and sticks ya can get your hands on…'

'Do you understand how thoroughly insulting this is?' Takeshi asked, forgetting to maintain his disciplined front, and advancing on Grimmjow so fast that Lilinette feared the Shinigami would make the fatal mistake of grabbing the Sexta by the collar. 'We may not be of your reiatsu level…'

'Got that right,' Grimmjow nodded.

The Shinigami officer frowned rebelliously. 'This is unacceptably arrogant,' he breathed.

'Ya forgot to say _Sir,' _the Sexta interrupted, in a low growl – Takeshi took an unwilling step back, but the frown did not leave his features; he swallowed dry.

'This is unacceptably arrogant, _Sir,'_ he hissed.

'Yeah,' Grimmjow admitted. 'But if you're as big men, an' ladies,' he added, throwing a wide, predatory grin to one of the prettier female Shinigami, and making her shift uncomfortably, 'as ya think ya are, it shouldn't be _too_ demeaning. Not unless I make it to that pole, that is. Only then it's gonna be a fucking disgrace.'

Takeshi breathed in and out, slowly, making eye contact with Matsuo over Grimmjow's shoulder – the pale and bruised Shinigami nodded with steely determination. The air vibrated with the group's anger and impatience, and Lilinette looked to the side, hiding a grin. If Grimmjow wanted them all hot and bothered, well, he'd gotten it for sure.

'Ya got five minutes,' the Sexta ordered, turning around, and heading for Lilinette's side. 'Get in position.'

As the lines broke, and the Shinigami group gathered around Takeshi, beginning to hastily whisper between themselves and cast angry leers at the Sexta, Grimmjow chuckled, and stopped short.

'Ya a gambling man, Takeshi?' he threw in over his shoulder.

'On occasion,' the Shinigami answered, standing to attention. The entire group turned with him.

'Hm,' Grimmjow said, looking at the grey skies. 'First good thing I hear about ya,' he mused. 'Let me tell you what, Takeshi…'

The Sexta fumbled in his pocket, and, at what seemed a tremendously long length of time, fished out three coins. He looked at his palm, and grinned.

'I'll bet you one of these,' he said, tossing one of the coins in the air, then deftly catching it with the other hand, 'that I make it to that pole. I'll bet ya the second that I make it to the pole before the paint dries on my hand. And,' he concluded, tossing the third coin to Takeshi with such speed and accuracy that the small metallic piece could have been mistaken for a projectile, 'I'm betting ya the third that I'm gonna touch each an' every one of you…_sixty,_' he laughed, 'before I'm done. Even more so, dude – none of y'all is gonna touch me.'

'You're on, _Sir_,' Takeshi growled – the Sexta laughed at the sky, and shuffled to Lilinette's side.

The girl looked up at him in amusement.

'Ya happy now that you got them pissed?' she giggled, propping her fists to her hips. 'Ya big-headed bastard…'

'Quite happy, yeah,' Grimmjow shrugged. The Shinigami had broken their huddle and begun to spread out. 'Gonna have fun, I'll give you that. Would ya look…'

Unable to contain his chuckles at the arrangement of the Shinigami, who'd basically lined themselves one behind the other, in a loosely jagged line which ran down the center of the courtyard, Grimmjow bent over laughing.

'…is like watching a train wreck,' he managed, slapping his forehead and making Lilinette sigh.

'Don't be an asshole, eh, Grimm…They's prolly doing that…'

'So they don't hit each others with their fireworks, yeah yeah,' Grimmjow continued, shaking his head. 'Still, they look like a bunch of pins…Fucking hell…' he finished, painstakingly straightening, and running his fingers through his hair. 'Alright, alright.'

He rotated his shoulders to warm up his muscles, and headed for the starting position.

'No permanent injury, eh! You wanna teach 'em, not kill 'em! Asshole!' Lilinette encouragingly cried, to his turned back – he carelessly waved his arm in her general direction, causing the first few Shinigami to bring their swords to the ready. The blow of their energies caused a few wisps of wind to ripple about their tense ankles, and faint clouds of dust to sweep across the courtyard. Grimmjow crouched by the pot of paint, but did not hurry to dip his fingers in. Instead, no longer smiling, he attentively glanced at the jagged line of Shinigami that stretched between him and his target. He unconsciously rubbed his fingers together, then finally dipped them in the ink and stood.

It was his last truly discernible motion.

Grimmjow was upon the first Shinigami of the line before she'd even acknowledged he'd vanished to Sonido – he grabbed her sword arm, pulling her wrist aside and jerking her off balance; the Sexta swept her legs from under her, and punched her in the stomach so swiftly and powerfully that the woman bounced dryly off the ground after she fell. Blinding teal light exploded around his wrist as he deflected a sword to the side, without sustaining as much as a scratch; he spun on himself, using his momentum to enhance the force of the kick to the next Shinigami's chest. The man was helplessly flung back, and the Sexta leapt forward, landing in a low, tense crouch. Red and blue Kido crossed over his head, mingling dangerously and creating a stiflingly thick puff of smoke – Grimmjow emerged from it with the speed of a hurricane, using the cover to pounce on the next in the line, and turning their next Kido against them. The golden light curled between his fingers and settled there, for a second, as the Sexta decided who to direct it towards – he noted that the Shinigami that stood next in line was dashing forward, and that the next one was getting ready to cast again – he decided to release the energy of the captured Bakudo against her.

'Six rods of lightning – my ass!' he hissed, pushing the energy back, and causing the golden light to wrap about the woman's figure and jerk her backwards for tens of feet. 'Right straight to the face, left uppercut to the liver!' Grimmjow laughed, doing exactly what he'd announced. Just as the woman smashed against the wall, with a strangled scream, the Sexta's right fist connected with the male Shinigami's jaw, while the left punch to the liver caused him to fall to the ground, after a rather comical mid–air spin.

Grimmjow tensed, and leapt up in the air, grabbing another sword by the blade, yanking it out of its masters' hands, and sending it hissing through the air; two other Shinigami desperately ducked out of the flying weapon's path. One of the two had their wrist crashed with the Sexta's landing, while the other barely managed to roll away from the energy wave caused by Grimmjow's contact with the ground. The ripple, which caused the ground to wave as if it had been liquid, knocked several others off their feet – in the general confusion, which was augmented by the pillars of dirt that the Sexta had shot up, Grimmjow leaned one knee to the ground and dusted his shoulder off.

The group hung in odd limbo – their glances locked to their fallen companions, the Shinigami hesitated with their hands clenched on their swords, looking at the Sexta in incomprehension. Grimmjow spit to the side, then glanced back on them, with a disappointed look on his features.

'…the fuck, people!' he grinned. 'At least gimme a shikai…'

The Shinigami, who were still coughing and wiping their foreheads of dirt and sweat, looked to each other in incomprehension. Grimmjow frowned and, without further warning, pounced forward, sending out a reiatsu front powerful enough to clear the entire battle field of dust.

His speed had yet again caught them by surprise, and though he heard murmured incantations and felt the gathering energies up ahead, Grimmjow did not focus on anything but his most immediate opponent; the man had frozen on his feet, seemingly pondering the Sexta's advice on the shikai. The decision took him just a split second too long, but perhaps the additional power would have helped him very little – the Sexta grabbed him by the chest of his uniform, and hurled him against one of his companions, whose fiery Kido waned against the sky.

Grimmjow deflected second spell, and sidestepped a third, while squarely planting the back of his right wrist in the face of a third Shinigami – he followed his movement with an elbow to the man's stomach, and used the fact that he'd bent over in pain to deliver a left handed punch to the back of his head, sending him to the ground into a heap.

The long chain like blade of a shikai transformed sword grappled his wrist; the Sexta looked to the side in amusement which painfully contrasted the steady, painful tug of the young woman who was holding the sword's handle.

'Getting serious, are we, babe?' he laughed – the young woman blushed fiercely, and he half recognized the pretty one he'd noticed later.

She'd dug her heels into the ground, and the determination with which she pulled on the hilt seemed almost touching, thus, feeling generous, Grimmjow allowed her a few seconds of pause before starting to Sonido and circling around; the extended chain swept six or seven others off their feet, before the young woman saw wisdom in letting go of the hilt. She tumbled backwards, stumbling upon another fallen Shinigami.

He was more than three quarters through.

In front of him, the Shinigami had realized that their long, spread out line was useless and had clustered together – to their misfortune, however, the new position spread their hastily cast Kido along predictable paths and down a narrow area. Though the unified reiatsu front was, for the first time, strong enough to be noticeable, the uncoordinated explosions were laughably easy to side-step; the Sexta used his Sonido to vanish out of the Kido's path just as he'd begun to feel its burning approach. He reappeared behind the small group, sweeping two of the Shinigami off their feet before they'd even become aware of his presence and started to turn. He propped himself up, bouncing off one man's chest, but grabbing one of the other Shinigami's Zanpakutoh away from the man's belt on his way up. He'd intended to toss the weapon back down, to scatter the group and leave himself more room to maneuver – however, it seemed that one of those still standing ahead had intuited his jump. Grimmjow had to place the wooden scabbard of the Zanpakutoh along his arm, using it for protection and offence alike as he deflected the Kido back to its point of origin, and brought himself to the ground with reiatsu aided haste and weight – the group of Shinigami barely had time to scatter, but not all of them bade it out of his range; Grimmjow swiftly caught up with the one whose sword he's stolen, and hit him over the back of the head with the wooden scabbard, letting the sword drop over the limp body of its master.

He swiftly spun on his feet, coming up under the defenses of yet another Shinigami; understanding that his now spread arms would not allow enough space for him to maneuver the full length of the sword, the man let go of his zanpakutoh's hilt, and allowed the blade to slip between his own fingers, cutting himself but also bringing it into position to be thrust between the Sexta's ribs. Grimmjow chuckled dry at the intention, catching his opponent's glance for a mere second before dryly grabbing his face in his hands and crunching the man's nose flat with a precise strike of his forehead.

'Ya need to teach me how to do that, dude!' Lilinette cried form somewhere aside – the sound of a shot of red fire exploding behind him hid the sound of his laughter.

'Ya too short for that one,' he dryly noted, speaking to the next Shinigami that came up before him, and Lilinette alike. This one, the Sexta thought, looked no older than sixteen, and his hands trembled so much that even the fierce display of his shikai's jagged, frozen edge seemed comical; to his credit, the young one hesitated for no more than a split second before bringing his weapon into a surprisingly heavy downwards slash, which might perhaps have caused some damage, had it connected with its intended target. Grimmjow slipped an inch out of reach, then caught the frozen blade between his palms, stopping it short as it came back up – the push of the Sexta's energy and a swift kick to the chest were sufficient to send the young Shinigami flying backwards. The Sexta rolled to the side, slipping through the center of a triangle of golden fangs, and reaching the caster before the words of the incantation had faded – he slapped the young woman aside without paying overly much attention to her – he'd picked something up, ahead.

An unexpectedly powerful fire front came at him from above; the spell seemed to carry far more destructive energy than the many which had preceded it, but covered a too wide front to be effective. There was only one reason why someone with enough reiatsu to actually mess with Grimmjow's hairdo would have dissipated their attack over such a large radius.

_A distraction_, the Sexta thought, grinning.

'Finally!' he shouted not facing into the spell, but away from it, and catching Matsuo's fist in mid motion – the Kido front swept over them both, making Grimmjow temporarily strengthen his Hierro. Taking advantage of the brief diversion of the Sexta's energy, the Shinigami shook his fist loose, and vanished, still leaving a tell tale upwards trace in the wake of his shadow step. Grimmjow parried upwards, half in blind, but still managed to intercept the first kick with his forearm. Yet again, the fact that the blow had seemed too weak was a warning sign – though Matsuo did well in attempting to take advantage of the fact that the raised right arm had left the Sexta's chest wide open, as well as in theoretical impossibility to actually draw, his strength feel short, and the long, flexible blade of his sword recoiled in contact with Pantera's hastily drawn scabbard. The contact nonetheless spread an unpleasant chill along Grimmjow's arm, clearly pointing at the fact that Matsuo's sword may well have had some hidden qualities, perhaps something akin to an energy drain.

Not that it much mattered.

The Shinigami had placed too much focus on the forward thrust of his blade, and ignored Grimmjow's right arm for a crucial split second. The Arrancar's fingers closed about Matsuo's left wrist like a vice, leaving the Shinigami with the unquestionable knowledge that the only reason why his bone was not being crushed was because the Sexta was actively restraining himself. All trace of consideration stopped there, however. Keeping tight grip on Matsuo's wrist, Grimmjow circled behind the Shinigami, turning his arm behind his back and pushing it upwards to the point of breaking.

Pantera's hilt slipped beneath his chin, forcing it upwards in open, painful irony; if this had been real combat, he knew, he would have been dead. The Sexta did not push his point however.

'What side was your broken rib again?' Grimmjow sneered from behind, not even leaving Matsuo time to cringe; the Sexta moved Pantera away from the Shinigami's chin, and spun it between his fingers before dryly jabbing its hilt into Matsuo's ribcage. The strike had landed precisely on the barely healed previous injury, as if the Arrancar had possessed some form of superhuman vision – the bone cracked open like a dry twig, and was pushed inwards just enough to make Matsuo cough up blood.

The Shinigami was cast aside like a wet rag, but Grimmjow did not get sufficient time for a triumphant grin. Pantera's scabbard was hastily yanked off the blade, not in fright but in genuine surprise – teal light hungrily spread through the sudden, crimson energy spread by Takeshi's gigantic scythe. The blades scraped against each other, throwing hot sparks, but though Grimmjow had done no more than angle his sword for the parry, Takeshi was pushed back a crucial few inches, and whatever excitement the Sexta might have let himself feel vanished.

For a moment, he regretted having drawn on this final obstacle – though Takeshi's speed had been somewhat of a pleasant surprise, his weapon was no competition for Pantera, and, in a sense, Grimmjow felt like he'd done the Shinigami officer a disservice by letting him think he was worthy of an unsheathed blade.

Still, Grimmjow was true to the fact that he hated ending his fights without giving Pantera her fair share of action – he darted upwards, allowing the scythe's blade to slip under his feet. Takeshi seemed to have anticipated the direction of his retreat, and forced him to Sonido, by rapidly firing a more powerful rendition of the six binding beams of light Grimmjow had captured before – he did not even dream of deflecting this one: the beams hissed through the air as if they had been genuine, physical bodies.

The head hen fancied he was smart.

Guessing that Grimmjow would try to bypass him, and make his way towards the goal, Takeshi shadow stepped to mid-height, some thirty feet above ground, and swung his scythe vertically upwards, sending out a cutting thin line of red light, and by sheer luck intersecting the Sexta's trajectory. Blue light ripped the red line asunder, and the Sexta materialized for just long enough for Takeshi to catch his bearings – not sensing the trap, the young Shinigami darted forth in blind, only sensing that Grimmjow had bypassed him when it was too late to turn. Keeping his wits about him, the Shinigami switched weapon hands and heavily rotated his scythe over his shoulder, bringing the back side of the long curved blade about his shoulders and deflecting Pantera to the side – then, unexpectedly, instead of attempting to turn, he grabbed the long handle with both hands, and furiously pushed the weapon backwards, catching Grimmjow by surprise. The back of the blade, and the protuberant, dull heel1 hit the Sexta squarely in the chest, pushing him a foot back.

Takeshi turned, bringing his scythe into a wide, momentum-aided spin, taking full advantage of the weapon's long shaft and not allowing Grimmjow time to step out of range – his effort and good thinking amounted to little. The Arrancar caught the weapon by the blade abruptly halting its spin. Takeshi looked up in incomprehension, letting his concentration slip.

Laughing, Grimmjow twisted the blade up, jolting the shaft out of Takeshi's hands; intuiting that the Sexta was trying to pull him close, and in range of his own sword, the Shinigami let go of the hilt. He'd thought the Sexta would simply jerk the weapon out of his hands and cast it aside, giving him enough time to shadow step and recuperate it – instead, Grimmjow grinned wide, and brutally pushed the scythe forth, ramming the hilt into the center of Takeshi's chest, and cutting off his breath. The Shinigami instinctively grasped the hit with both hands, pushing himself away and struggling to regain his breath; to his surprise, Grimmjow let the weapon go so swiftly that Takeshi almost let the full weight of the scythe slip through his fingers.

'Steady there, dude,' the Sexta grinned, oddly taking half a step back, and glancing at the Shinigami though half closed eyes. 'You wanna play?'

Takeshi did not know why he had nodded, and immediately regretted it once he did.

'Fine,' Grimmjow said – he was already standing behind the Shinigami, and Takeshi had sensed nothing; there had been no energy trail, no air movement…as far as he was, concerned, he had not even noticed that Grimmjow had disappeared, before he'd heard his voice. 'But ya gonna want to learn a couple of lessons… Lesson one – be fast _to_ your feet.'

The world rolled about Takeshi at lightning speed – he only felt himself falling once he'd almost hit the ground, and only registered the sharp pain on the back of his knees when all of his other pains had made it easy to ignore. He stared at the sky for a moment, before clouds of dust stifled his vision; for a further second, he entertained the pleasant notion of simply remaining spread on his back – his inspiration in rolling to the side proved life-saving, as, but an eye blink later, Grimmjow landed on one knee precisely where Takeshi's chest might have been. The Sexta's landing caused the ground to sink on a six foot radius, and blew the Shinigami back.

Takeshi straightened painstakingly, and jumped another few feet back out of blind precaution; not because he'd sensed Grimmjow move, but he'd had the illusion that the clouds of dust had suddenly changed shape and density, the Shinigami spun on himself, and offered an equally blind parry.

The blow of the contact scattered the debris, clearing Takeshi's view to the Arrancar's insane grin.

'Not bad.' Grimmjow said – once more swiftly kicking the Shinigami off his feet but, this time, redressing him with a powerful elbow to the kidneys. 'Lesson two – be fast _on_ ya feet.'

Pantera's blade ran along the scythe's blade, forcing it into a mock spin before Takeshi tightened his grip on the shaft, and rebelliously sustained the Sexta's glance; he pushed the sword off his own weapon and took sufficient distance to swing it horizontally and send out another cutting, crimson, red front, at the height of the Arrancar's chest. Grimmjow simply cut through it, and vanished – figuring that the Sexta would once more appear from behind him, as he had thrice before, Takeshi decisively spun on himself bringing his weapon to the ready.

The blow came from above, and yanked the scythe out of Takeshi's grip, sending it hissing through the air; the Shinigami shadow stepped on its trail, managing to regain hold just before Grimmjow materialized before him. Takeshi did not attempt to straighten the weapon. He simply caught it and yanked it in, hoping to hook the Arrancar with the inside of the blade. Grimmjow vanished as quickly as he'd appeared, and the tip of his sword ran upwards on Takeshi's ribcage, just deep enough to split his clothing and scratch the skin – ignoring the sensation that he was being mocked, the Shinigami attempted to focus, and immediately switched his weapon to his other hand straightening it in such a way that the blade guarded him from an upwards attack, and the long shaft provided some moderate protection for his side; to no avail.

'Ya not movin',' Grimmjow reminded, from everywhere and nowhere. It was all Takeshi heard before a kick to the chest sent him flying backwards – he sensed the Arrancar moving along side him, or rather, he felt the electrical buzzing of the Sexta's sword before he briefly met Grimmjow's equally electric blue glance. And then, as if both had given him a flash of illumination, Takeshi understood what he'd been meant to do.

He vanished to shadow step, though he had not yet fought off the impulse of the kick, and he was unsure whether he could truly control his direction. For a moment, he could not: though he'd intended to drift straight downwards, he'd only managed a mildly curved trajectory, which consumed far more energy than it should have. Yet, ironically, misfortune turned to fortune in the blink of an eye – the circle had caused him to drift behind the Espada, and gained him enough time to briefly stop and regain control. He felt Pantera's energy drifting downwards in turn, and had no further hesitation – his next shadow step brought him above and behind the Arrancar, who'd still been on the strong trail of the first, failed shadow step. The back of Grimmjow's shoulders presented a perfect, open target, which was just within reach; knowing speed was of the essence, but not wishing to release any tell tale energy, the Shinigami officer twisted his scythe, bringing it to the ready; it was perhaps the slight current of air that accompanied the blade's movement to catch Grimmjow's attention, but by then, the weapon was already on its way down. The Arrancar had time to do no more than look over his shoulder.

'Lesson three,' he dryly said.

The words seemed superfluous, as metal hissed hungrily towards flesh.

Takeshi's world melted to searing pain and white light; he heard, rather than felt the crack of his cheekbone, and yelped in surprise, rather than pain when something akin to a projectile of solid fire hit the side of his throat, sending him downwards and allowing him no possibility to parry. He hit the ground and instinctively curled to the side, but another strike spread him on his back. The painful golden light retreated to a pinpoint too painful to behold, and he closed his eyes.

When he reopened them, he did so to find Lilinette sitting above him, one knee on his chest and tiny fist curled and ready to strike. He painstakingly lifted his head, trying to look beyond her.

Unflappable, with his sword rotating casually in his right hand and his left hand in his pocket, Grimmjow landed somewhere on the edges of his vision.

'Lesson three,' Grimmjow repeated, slowly striding over to the pole, and smearing the still fresh blue paint upon the wood; to Takeshi's pained senses, the marking seemed fluorescent. 'Much like life, fighting's not fair.'

The Shinigami let his head fall back to the ground, feeling that his skull was filled with no more than molten lava and shards of glass. He closed his eyes.

It mattered little, Takeshi thought, that Lilinette's tiny weight had softly been lifted from his chest. The weight of the shame was far greater, and stifled his very breath. He felt the energies of his companions all around himself, as injured and subdued by humiliation as his own, and though he dearly wished to do no more than keep his eyes closed for the rest of eternity, the officer understood that he had no right to abscond from their defeat…From his own…He swallowed dry, and forced his eyes open, then sat up, feeling as if looking over his shoulder would be the last and most devastating strike.

It was.

The courtyard was littered with bodies, and stifled, pained groans rose from all about, as, just like him, the rest of the 3rd Division tried to bring itself back to reality. Some, he noted, were hiding their faces in their hands; some had given up and simply lied back, glancing at the sky.

'Stand,' he heard himself command – the word rippled through the courtyard with the same intensity that the Sexta's energy had carried. He sensed incredulous glances turning to him, he sensed such pain in all of their energies, that he knew that the only thing they felt like doing was sinking into the ground, rather than rising to their feet. 'Stand,' Takeshi nonetheless repeated, forcing himself up; the scythe in his hand melted into the shape of his sword, and he leaned heavily on the scabbard as he pushed himself to his feet.

He limped a step forward, then another, not caring whether he was being followed, but knowing he would be. Not because he inspired any respect, Takeshi thought. Just by force of habit.

The Shinigami officer limped to stand before Grimmjow, but did not raise his glance off the ground until he sensed that the lines of his companions had reformed behind him; judging by the speed and irregularity of their steps, they were all injured to some lesser or greater extent. With loathing unlike he'd ever experienced before, Takeshi looked over his shoulder and cringed at the fact that more than half of the Division had to rely upon their swords or the shoulders of their companions to simply stand. Matsuo seemed barely conscious.

Takeshi straightened his shoulders, and looked up, meeting Grimmjow's ironic glance.

'Yeah,' the Arrancar casually said, leaning his shoulder on the pole, just beside the marking of paint. '_Now,_ we can talk about disgrace.'

The Shinigami bowed slowly in surrender, and remained bowed for a few seconds, watching droplets of blood that slipped off his cheek fall to the ground. The first, the second…the third…

He watched the shadow of Grimmjow's arm stretching towards him, and, for a second, did not understand what more the Arrancar wanted; he all but chocked when he did. Still, he straightened and, taking another step forward, held his arm out, to let the coin drop into the Sexta's expectantly stretched hand. He withdrew without a further word, and bowed again.

Takeshi felt the Arrancar's glance upon him, but could think of nothing more to do than bow even deeper.

'Nah, dude,' Grimmjow unexpectedly said. 'Would ya quit talking to my feet?' he exploded – Takeshi straightened as if he'd been punched in the chin.

'I…' he began. 'We…'

'Yeh, I know,' Grimmjow said. 'Y'all got thumped. Told ya it was gonna be humiliation with suffering, dude…Lemme give you a gambling tip, Takeshi – never bet against me.'

Though he forced himself to sustain the Sexta's glance, the Shinigami officer looked to the side as he nodded.

'Right!' Grimmjow suddenly spoke up, sending a distinctively frightened shiver through the line of Shinigami before him. 'ya lot of chickens, and…lead hen,' he said, with a chuckle, briefly and unexpectedly patting Takeshi's shoulder before he moved on. 'Lemme explain what happened here, so y'all don't die stupid.'

'There ain't no such thing as a miracle in this world,' he said, standing before the pitifully injured group. 'Or at least the chances of any of y'all scoring one at fucking seven o'clock in the morning, are bloody small. Was there any one of you to who the fact that my reiatsu trumps the lot of yours was not clear? Ha?'

The Shinigami either shook their heads or lowered their glances; both gestures implied the same thing.

'So any particular reason why ya came at me one by one?' the Sexta queried. 'Ya was waiting for what, Gin to come down from the sky with lightning coming out of his arse an' help ya? You,' he said, striding by the man who'd hesitated before releasing his shikai, 'ya either hit or ya run, there ain't no thinking. You,' he continued, facing the one whose nose he had crushed, 'it's fucking shameful to get headbutted in your age, man – all ya need to do is raise ya chin, and you would have given me a fucker of a headache. Ain't you even been in a bar fight? What the hell! You oughta be in the infirmary looking at nurse boobs, an' moaning, Matsuo, ya got no business out here…An' y'all toss spells like ya're blind, or like you've been brought up bloody orphans – ever thought of angling or combining? Bleeding pathetic…'

'I think the point is driven enough, Sir,' Takeshi said. 'We…'

'I ain't done,' Grimmjow snappily threw over his shoulder. 'An' you're all in a fucking rush to eat dirt. Must be a cultural thing, 'cuz this,' he distractedly said, tossing the coin Takeshi had just returned to him high in the air, and allowing it to glint in the sunlight before deftly catching it behind his back, 'ain't mine.'

The Shinigami group looked up in incomprehension, which the Sexta seemed to disregard. With the same lazy swagger, he made his way between the two injured lines, finding the young one with the jagged ice sword, and intently glancing at him for a moment. The boy swallowed dry, and hastily looked to the left and right, not understanding what was needed of him, and by now, looking ready to break and run.

'All yours, dude,' Grimmjow dryly said, tossing him the coin – the boy took three desperate, uncoordinated waves of his hands to catch it.

'Erm…S…Sir?' he asked, looking at the Arrancar in utter shock.

Grimmjow lowered his head, and snickered, then, without hurry, showed him the hem of his vest. The tear in the silk was just two inches long, but, to the boy's amazed glance, it might as well have spanned the length of a canyon – the entire group breathed out in awe, and, for a fleeting moment, the weight of defeat seemed to clear.

'Sir?' the young one asked again, and though his eyes still swam in incomprehension, the tone of his voice had been just a note less uncertain.

'Ya touched me,' the Sexta shrugged. 'Therefore, all yours.'

The Arrancar left neither him, nor any of the others time to recover.

'Haul your behinds to the 4th or back to your momma,' Grimmjow commanded, briskly turning away. The brief sense of relief that the group had begun to spread threatened to vanish at the dry dismissal, and, just like Takeshi the group lowered their glances and began to disperse.

'See y'all tomorrow. Same time, same place,' the Sexta added, catching the Shinigami officer's glance over his shoulder. He had the brief sensation that this time Takeshi's nod had been slightly more deliberate.

'Sir?' Takeshi uncertainly inquired, pulling the Shoji panel aside, and stepping in with shaky footsteps.

'Dude,' the seemingly empty room aggressively growled back.

The Shinigami froze in the doorframe, one foot in, and one foot out of the room; the Sexta's reaction left him in a predicament, since he truly did not know how else to inquire for permission to enter, but was equally uneager to enter if permission was not granted. After what had seemed like a century of silence, Grimmjow peered out from behind the back of the couch where he'd been lying, and carelessly waved his hand, gesturing for the Shinigami to enter, before dropping back on his back.

Feeling on alien territory, Takeshi carefully closed the panel behind him, and advanced, uncomfortably settling on his knees just in front of the door. He'd never gone further in Gin's quarters when he'd come forward for previous reports – an invisible line, which lied just three feet inside the room, was never to be surpassed by anyone but Kira Izuru…

Uncomfortable, heavy silence stretched for a moment, and he looked down at his bruised fingers, waiting for his new superior to lend him attention. When the attention finally came, it took no form that Takeshi recognized – Grimmjow once more peered over the back of the couch; in a trained reaction, the Shinigami bowed.

'Oh, for fuck's sake!' the Sexta exclaimed, slapping his forehead. Takeshi had to fight the instinct of bowing again, and almost keep himself straight by tensing his arms. The Arrancar furiously shook his head, but mercifully sat up, and did not disappear behind the back of the couch, and though the anger in his eyes did not fade, he took a deep breath and bit back whatever else was on his tongue – Takeshi did not know the Sexta nearly well enough to understand he was tremendously lucky.

'Come in an' sit like a proper person,' he said, in a tone of voice that seemed far more suitable to a death threat.

The Shinigami obeyed, his slow gestures caused by pain and lack of ability to move faster than by lack of understanding for the stress of the order. He advanced carefully, only to find himself in yet another predicament when he came to stand before Grimmjow, without anywhere where he could _sit like a proper person, _since the Sexta had stretched his legs over the only other stool in the chamber. The only other place to sit, therefore, was the large, imposing chair behind the captain's desk, but that…He decided on standing.

'I do not know how to address you,' he began, trying his best to keep his voice steady.

'Lord of the Kick-Ass,' Grimmjow shrugged. 'Grimmjow, for short. Fuck, dude, ya can call me Pineapple for all I care, as long as you don't call me…Sir.'

'I apologise, but I cannot bring myself to call you Captain,' Takeshi began, as if he had not heard the Sexta's words.

'Frankly, that would be worse than _Sir_,' the Arrancar smirked in disgust. He took another swig of the odd, rectangular bottle he'd been clasping, and blankly glanced up at the Shinigami for a moment longer. 'Sit how ya like, Takeshi,' he conceded, with a swift inclination of his head. 'Lest after ya don't know what to call me, ya can't remember how to sit without me telling ya…'

The Shinigami nodded briefly, then, with an apologetic glance, settled back into his seiza posture – Grimmjow smirked once more, but remained silent.

'S…Grimmjow,' Takeshi began, correcting his speech in mid-phrase. 'I came to express my gratitude for your actions today.'

His voice had not carried any particular warmth. He'd simply sounded as exhausted as he felt.

'Hey,' the Sexta shrugged, 'I can deliver a can of pain any time, if that's your thing, Takeshi...'

'That is not what I mean, Sir,' the Shinigami said, the determination of speaking his mind making him forget himself. He smiled, faintly and sadly, and though the Arrancar rolled his eyes, he did not interrupt on account of the miswording; instead, he took another swig of his bottle and stared blankly ahead. 'Osawa…I mean, of course, tenth seat Osawa Yoshi did not touch you.' Takeshi said, suddenly lifting his glance to Grimmjow's. 'Or perhaps,' he followed, 'he did, but he could not have unless you had let him do it, Sir…Grimmjow.'

The Sexta unexpectedly leaned forward.

'You a bit of a smart-ass?' he asked, narrowing his eyes.

'On occasion,' Takeshi answered, not sensing any aggression in the Arrancar's question. 'Not on this one,' he added, with a shadow of a grin, which the stitches on his cheekbone rendered painful. 'I imagine we did not cut a shining figure…'

'Did ya expect ya would?' Grimmjow laughed, making the Shinigami cringe at the undisguised irony of the question. He lost his voice for a moment, and he looked to the side. 'Dude. Yo. Here,' he said extending the bottle, and completely overthrowing every last of Takeshi's expectations. 'Now, _that_'s an order,' he suddenly barked – Takeshi grabbed the bottle as if he had been staring death in the eye, and the golden liquid within had been the elixir of eternal life.

He took an overly cautious sip of the drink, almost chocking on it, although the liquid vaporized on his tongue.

'Poison,' he unwillingly coughed, finding that whatever the drink was, it had closed his throat and cleared his nose at the same time. Grimmjow laughed, and grabbed the bottle back.

'No, tequila. So,' the Sexta said, leaning back, and taking another generous swig of his bottle. 'Did ya expect ya would? D'ya want more of this to make ya talk?' he prompted, lifting his eyebrows; Takeshi rapidly shook his head, but did not hurry to speak.

'No,' he answered, at length. 'I guess I had brought myself to think we might – we have not seen any action in the war, and, given all the restrictions, on drawing, on Kido usage, I…'

'Ya thought ya were the big unseen danger,' Grimmjow shrugged.

'At least not as much of a disgrace as we have proven to be, Sir.'

The Sexta rolled his eyes, but this time, Takeshi did not let himself be dissuaded.

'I wished to express my gratitude,' he said, unwisely bowing. 'I was, of course, not pleased with being placed under your command, but after the long string of misfortunes…'

'Ya still whining,' the Sexta sighed – the Shinigami straightened and paid him no heed.

'…after the long string of misfortunes which befell us, I think this very last one could almost have gone unnoticed. The cup of our humiliation…'

'Oh, fuck, an' you're turning poetic now, dude, and I don't even know ya…' Grimmjow muttered. 'Look, look – shut up for a mo'…'

'Sir,' Takeshi nodded, in submission. His glance demanded quarter, but none was granted; the bottle was passed once more, and this time, the Shinigami actually tilted it enough to swallow a mouthful. 'The cup was deep and you did not force us to drink it to the bottom, Sir.' He whispered, despite himself. 'Your disappointment…'

'I'll need another bottle, for fuck's sake…' Grimmjow snarled, to no one in particular; Takeshi lowered his chin to his chest, and pressed himself through his speech.

'Your disappointment in our performance could not have been small.' the young man said; he took a drink of his own accord, and placed the bottle in between them, on the floor.

The Sexta scratched his head, looking thoroughly…angry? Takeshi thought, in utter confusion.

'Have I offended?' the Shinigami asked, finding that his throat was dry, and unwittingly reaching for the bottle. 'I did not mean to.'

Grimmjow looked down at him, with an expression the Shinigami officer could not read, and remained silent for a moment.

'Drink up,' the Arrancar dryly said, noticing that Takeshi's hand had frozen on the bottle's neck. The Shinigami did not need to be told twice – in truth, he thought, the burn of the alcohol was easier to bear than the bitter taste he'd carried in his mouth all day.

'Dude,' Grimmjow said, curiously glancing at the Shinigami. 'Are ya drinking my tequila just cuz I'm telling ya to?'

The Shinigami frowned slightly, and preferred avoiding a direct answer.

'In the initial stages, Sir. I am sure that if I drink three more mouthfuls, my motivation will not particularly matter.'

'That ain't a good enough reason to be drinkin' my stuff, Takeshi. Comes in limited supply, ya know.'

'I apologise, Sir…Grimmjow,' the Shinigami hastily corrected.

'An' if I asked ya to jump off the roof, would ya do that, too?'

Takeshi swallowed dry, and, judging by his smirk, Grimmjow guessed the answer long before it was worded.

'At the moment, probably yes,' the young man said; he sighed, noting that the Sexta's focus on him was bordering unpleasant. 'Change in command is not a particularly pleasant time…'

Grimmjow waved the rest of the sentence away, and leaned back on the couch, looking at the ceiling for a few silent seconds.

'Don't ya think ya take to people a bit too fast, Takeshi?' he asked. His voice had carried some amount of genuine curiosity. 'I mean, dude, this morning an' the day before that, you were all set to rip me a new one, or well,' the Sexta snickered, 'die trying. Our kinds have been at war for millennia, and I don't like you more than you like me, as a fucking basis principle.'

Takeshi's glance darted to the side, and he wondered how freely he could speak. It was obvious that the Arrancar was not keen on discipline, but a vast ocean lied between informal address and disobedience, and, oddly, it was not fear of the powerful Hollow before him that stopped Takeshi from outright speaking his mind, but the mere fact that the Hollow was sitting here, in this office…

'Was just kidding about the drinking, by the way,' Grimmjow said.

'I feared as much,' the Shinigami responded, not being able to force himself to smile.

'…oh, when I run into Lili, the shit I'm gonna tell her…' the Sexta muttered, disregarding Takeshi's surprised glance; the Shinigami officer did not have time to wonder on the meaning of the statement for overly long. Grimmjow curiosity morphed into something that he clearly recognized as anger, and this time, the Arrancar did not leave him guessing.

'Look, Takeshi,' the Sexta said, 'let me make this easy for ya, dude – I exist in two forms of aggregation: one is pissed, and the other is the _other_ kind of pissed. In whichever order you take 'em, I am far likelier to punch you through a wall than talk to ya, OK?'

'I understand that, Sir,' Takeshi answered, his nod so resembling to a bow that Grimmjow slapped his forehead, and had to visibly struggle to reign in his temper.

'So, if I'm asking ya a question, dude, why do ya need to play with my patience…'

'Because I am as unsure of how to relate to you as I am about how to address you,' Takeshi answered. 'Oh, hell,' he breathed, looking around – he briefly sat up on his knees, and snatched the bottle, then had a serious mouthful, deciding that the quality of whatever it was, was definitely improving with quantity. 'Permission to speak freely,' he said, 'and yes, while I grasp that you have some undisclosed tooth against such useless trappings of hierarchy, _I_ feel the need to have your permission, so kindly indulge.'

He put the bottle down and frowned in expectation.

'That's a bit better,' Grimmjow laughed, and though the slight manic edge that always laced his chuckles was still present, Takeshi could definitely read the reaction as sincere. 'Ok,' the Sexta said, 'speak freely. I,' he said, 'crossing his legs and sitting straight, 'Lord of the Kick Ass, allow it.'

'I am not attempting to relate to you because I have suddenly grown fond of Hollow,' Takeshi said – the fact that he could place all his seething anger in his voice was truly liberating. 'This new order is as abhorrent to me as it is to the rest of us…'

'Don't get _me_ started,' Grimmjow unexplainably mumbled.

'That is on the one hand,' Takeshi continued, in a low tone. 'On the other, all of our training, and all of our education is geared towards functioning within a structure. We were all put in our specific places to cover specific duties, and inherently respect those placed above us – the 3rd has been especially challenged from this perspective, because we have experienced two traumatic command changes, no command at all, and now _you_. Where in theory other divisions may have an easier time adjusting – or _not_ adjusting to the new order, as they still have their old captains and figures of authority to cling to, for better or worse, we are truly at a loss…'

'If I were you, dude, I'd just tell me to fuck off…' Grimmjow sighed.

'You occupy this office,' Takeshi answered. 'It is the office, and not you that mandates respect.'

'So go get some candles and worship the desk,' the Sexta shrugged. 'It's right over there; consider a small sacrifice, too, if you really wanna…'

'If we had performed anywhere near the level that I had hoped for this morning, Sir, the dissociation between you and the office would have been easy, and I would feel at ease telling you to fuck off and proceed to worshipping the desk.' The Shinigami answered, in a low snarl, expecting that _now_ he would truly get punched through a wall. Instead, Grimmjow continued to stare down at him with something that resembled pity, which made the bitter taste in Takeshi's mouth rise above the sting of the alcohol.

'From a personal perspective,' he followed, swallowing dry, 'I can only feel that since I was the only enduring officer through the past two years, it was my responsibility to keep the Division in shape. It is clear that I failed to do so, thus, I am have to accept the fact that you allowed us to walk away preserving _some_ dignity, furthermore, the fact that your disappointment at this morning's display did not cause you to immediately dismiss us all as useless, and that you proposed further training, as a personal favour.'

'Least of my intentions, lead hen,' Grimmjow snickered; the Shinigami waved the words away.

'For better or worse,' Takeshi followed, 'the only visible quality that a Shinigami captain has to have before taking office is the ability to manifest Bankai, which translates into vastly superior reiatsu. You have plentifully demonstrated that, this morning. It is then the duty of the seated officers, and division itself, to adjust to the Captain's authority…'

'What a load of…'

'Please, hear me through,' the Shinigami insisted. 'It is _my_ duty to make sure that the chain of command functions as it should. In this particular circumstance, given that it was my failure that forced us to accept your superiority, the task of establishing a connection, and relating to you, no matter how difficult or daunting the burden may be, is also mine.'

'Even if I make you drink poison?' Grimmjow asked, arching an eyebrow.

'You called it _tequila_, Sir,' Takeshi sighed.

'Right,' the Sexta muttered, taking a sip of the drink, then regretfully measuring how much there was left through half-closed eyes. '_We,_' he said,' are gonna need another bottle. Hit it,' he added, pointing to the drink, and Takeshi did, using the fact that the conversation technique was probably the staple at the 8th as sole source of mental comfort.

'OK,' Grimmjow began, scratching his Hollow jaw, and glancing at the Shinigami in visible discomfort. 'I am currently at a point between my two normal states of pissed, so I'm kinda mellow. I am not disappointed in how y'all did this morning. Firstly, and mark my words, because _I do not give a fuck_ about any of you. That's the first thing you gotta remember,' he added, though Takeshi had bitterly lowered his glance. 'I got my arm twisted into this shit by your old acquaintance, Ichimaru, an' spitfire Lili – who, by the way, does give a fuck.'

'Why would she?' Takeshi inquired, through tightly clenched teeth.

'Because she's growin' an' she fancies she got something to prove.' The Sexta shrugged, quickly dispensing with the subject. 'Don't really matter. But, second and more important, Takeshi, I ain't disappointed in what happened this morning because it went down exactly like I knew it would. I didn't expect you to amount to nothin', and you didn't.'

'So easily dismissed,' the Shinigami sighed, drinking another large mouthful.

'Yeah, dude, an' I know what you're thinking, an' it ain't the reiatsu that's the killer. It's all this lining up, and fucking groveling and calling people _Sir_ just because they happen to be pissing about in a particular office… Too much repetition of that stops ya from thinking on your own, and that, not your lack of reiatsu, is what got you owned this morning. Now ya just hogging the bottle,' he reminded, and Takeshi regretfully stretched his arm out.

'No matter what you've concluded from this morning, dude, I ain't got no intention to become your boss, or the boss of your guys, so, from my part, you don't have to worry about adapting, or relating, or whatever… I don't do that shit, and I don't got use for hierarchies,' Grimmjow resentfully muttered.

'But surely, a chain of command…'

'At your level today, your chain of command 'round here only serves to point who gets killed first and who gets killed last. That's about it. Cuz while you know who should be bowing to who, and ya got a great grasp of honorifics, y'all can't work together for shit. Without that, an' with all of this ritual, I reckon is only an ass-kissing pyramid, and I ain't interested in being on top of it.' The Sexta shrugged, draining the bottle. 'Lili ain't interested in that, either.'

'I understand,' the Shinigami bitterly said, casting an unwillingly regretful glance towards the empty bottle. The Sexta shrugged, and jumped over the back of the couch in a flash, starting towards the door – Takeshi guessed the gesture marked the end of the audience, and started to rise from his knees, then, with a stubborn frown, settled back down in his rigid posture.

'In fact,' he reiterated, habit forcing him to keep his eyes on the floor, but not strong enough to prevent him from sounding furious, 'I do _not_ understand.'

Grimmjow spun on himself, staggering just a tiny bit, and crossed his arms over his chest, a rather stupid, wide grin spread over his features.

'If you do not give a fuck,' Takeshi continued, finding the previously unspeakable words surprisingly easy to utter, 'and you find us weak and unworthy of your leadership,' he added, through clenched teeth, 'why would you offer to participate in further training sessions?'

'I never said ya was weak,' Grimmjow shrugged. 'I never said that I was disappointed – in fact, dude, I said I wasn't disappointed at all. That's all in your head. You're the one who think he's failed at fuck knows what, an' needs to punish himself on behalf of all of his guys, by bowing to me an' drinking my hardly procured booze without even liking it, when in fact all he wants to do is rip me a new one. Of the Hollow kind, or other kind…'

The Shinigami nodded, in simple and sincere approval of the latter statement – his honesty was accepted with an ever widening, ever more ominous grin.

'Look, Takeshi, lemme make it simple.' The Sexta said. 'You're the first Shinigami that's talked back to me in 'bout eight months. That's kinda suicidal, since you're as much of an ant to me as most of the other guys I've run across, but I am freaking insane, an' I really like suicidal little things, who bite more than they can chew. If you and your crew fucked up today, it was partly because of the reiatsu gap, but that, cynically, ya don't have to worry about. Ya ain't gonna be facing the likes of _us_ ever again.'

'Probably not, Sir,' Takeshi sadly conceded.

'The other reason why you fucked up is because you are conditioned to fight in a certain way,' the Sexta said. 'Whatever it was that ya did with your guys over the past two years, Takeshi, you did well – ya tried, and they tried.'

Takeshi swallowed dry, wondering why the words of the Hollow had carried so much weight.

'Y'all just struggled to master a wrong routine, dude. An' you mastered it so good that it's gonna lead you to getting thumped every time without fail. D'ya grasp that?'

'No,' the Shinigami said. 'No, our training patterns have been established for centuries; our methods of engagement…'

'Have already screwed ya over, which is why I'm standing here,' Grimmjow said, dryly. 'You make it sound like the only way you're gonna let go of a wrong fighting routine is if I adopt ya, and start lording over ya like Ichimaru might. That ain't gonna happen. If I could and wanted to have children, I'd have them with my woman, not with ya.'

'But that's not to say you're weak, or unworthy, or whatever the hell…Far as I can tell, you're brave enough, and smart enough, dude. You just have to not think that I can fix it for ya, and in turn that you can fix it for your guys. That ain't fair to ya, ain't fair to them – I don't wanna treat you an' your lot as if ya had no head, and would jump off a roof if I told ya to do it. I don't want that. You should not want that either. Hierarchy needs to be based on functional cooperation, and functional cooperation needs to respect hierarchy, else it's all fucking void.'

The Shinigami breathed in deeply.

'…an' you're still not getting stiff, kneeling like that,' Grimmjow noted.

'Just a bit, Sir,' Takeshi sighed. 'If I may…'

'Fuck, dude…' Grimmjow exploded, running his fingers through his hair.

'Alright. I can see _some _reason why we – and I may wish to adjust our thinking, behaviour, and fighting patterns. I still cannot see why you are willing to see me, and us, though this transformation.'

'I'm bored, for one,' the Sexta sighed.

Takeshi sheltered his too warm forehead in his too cold fingers.

'For two,' Grimmjow continued, 'you may have missed a bit of a conflict between myself an' spitfire Lili, and the _other_ Arrancar.'

'I think that was quite visible,' Takeshi smirked.

'Yeh, well – the _others_ were trained just like your lot. Don't think, just jump after you're told. Or hit, after you're told. Or whatever, after you're told. Not even in name, mark my words, will I allow anything that's connected to me be weaker than that; if nothing else comes from me waking up at fucking seven in the morning, then at least y'all should be able to own them. Else, my balls would be smaller.'

'A predicament,' Takeshi grinned – for the first time, widely and honestly.

'An' for third, Takeshi, my friend,' Grimmjow laughed, stuffing his hands in his pockets and heading not for the door, but for a wooden cabinet that stood just beside it, and opening it to reveal two neatly stacked rows of the same oddly shaped , rectangular bottles, which were full and untouched, 'Lili don't drink.'

'Oh, Gods.' The Shinigami whimpered, in utter defeat. Grimmjow just laughed and threw a full bottle at his unwilling drinking partner. Takeshi caught the bottle and gazed down at it with marked trepidation. This was was last thing either one remembered.

At least until Lilinette returned to the building.

'What the fuck, Grimm? Them people are waiting out there, and you…' Lilinette exploded, bursting in at half past seven on the following morning.

She obtained no response, so she advanced into the office, jumped over the back of the couch, and coming to behold Grimmjow Jagguerjaques sleeping on the couch, one leg flung over the back rest, and one hand hanging over the edge, and Takeshi, collapsed into a heap on the floor. The small space which span between Grimmjow's arm and Takeshi's frame was crowded by three empty bottles, one of which still carried the residue of a golden fluid.

'Oh boy,' the girl said.

As if on command, Takeshi sat up, straightened, and looked about himself in utter incomprehension; upon looking at Lilinette's concerned features, he frowned, then paused.

'I'm married!' he stated, in unexplainable panic.

Lilinette took it all in her stride. What else could a guy think of, if woken up in a drunken haze, and staring into a young woman's face?

'Ya also on duty,' she said. 'Your wife wasn't expecting you home.'

'Thank the Gods,' Takeshi whispered, melting back down. He lay at peace for another few seconds, then stirred again.

'I had the thing at seven…' he said.

'Well, you ain't there and Grimm and there, so…' Lilinette shrugged.

'…so maybe today they could be doing something painless,' the Shinigami whimpered, shifting uncomfortably on the hardwood floor. 'Like sparring?' he pleaded, fighting to lift himself up on one elbow, and staring at the three or so images of the young girl with bleary eyes.

'Sparring it is,' Lilinette giggled.

He happily nodded, then lied back on the floor.

She debated whether she could keep the whole of the 3rd waiting for another five minutes, after they had waited for half an hour; she made a decision, and drifted to sit on the huge captain's chair behind the desk, and rocked back and forth, leaning her feet on the edge of the table, while beholding Grimmjow sleeping, spread out on the couch, and Takeshi's uncomfortably crumpled figure.

'Oh boy,' Lilinette said, to the ceiling.

The sound of Grimmjow's snoring drowned the words out.

* * *

Well now, I hope everyone's been enjoying our turn towards the action.

Next week, we return to the love birds. But don't worry, this is far from the end of the ass kicking.


	25. Week 2

Good evening all, and thanks for reading and especially commenting :) And well, at least I got Ivi to do *some* greetings and salutations - The beatings will continue until morale improves...eh. I know It's what Grimm would have said, yet...

As he promised, tonight we return to our ill-matched love birds, in

Chapter 23 - Where, apparently, Stark channels my inner feminist.

(he soooo does not!)

* * *

_August 2__nd_

'How odd it is...' Unohana began, leaving her words unfinished, but feeling as if she'd finished them.

It was raining, lightly and merrily, clear water droplets falling on fresh green leaves and catching the already returning summer sunlight before falling to the ground. They'd left the doorway to the garden open, and Stark's tunic lied on the threshold, only half inside. Her haori lied next to it, in a small heap.

At least it was clearly indoors, she thought, with a small inward sigh.

Stark's fingers ran along her arm, and entangled hers.

'Yes, I think it is most odd,' he conceded.

'Isane, my...'

'Your lieutenant,' the Arrancar chuckled. 'Yes, I think we have established that?' he inquired, propping himself up on his elbow and raising an eyebrow.

She frowned, and curled against him between sheets that were warm with sunlight, letting him know that the irony was not appreciated in a moment that she perceived as serious. He smiled, and gripped her fingers tighter.

'Go on,' he said, enforcing the prompt with a kiss on her bare shoulder. 'What does Isane, your lieutenant, think?'

'She was weeping when she welcomed me back,' Unohana said, softly. 'She thought that I had gone through the most horrible ordeal imaginable to a woman, and that the fact that I was not quivering was a sign of my strength. She was weeping, and she opened her arms – so, I...'

The woman shrugged.

'So I embraced her in turn, and wept too, taking comfort in her embrace and in her tears, while knowing that my own tears were not caused by either pain or discomfort, but by relief – at the fact that our week last month was nothing like she imagined, at the fact that you are as you are, while she thought you... I lied to her.' Unohana concluded, dryly.

'You didn't,' the Arrancar soothingly said. 'Sexual violence apart, I am sure that week was as nerve wrecking an experience you had imagined it would be. Not from my part, mind you,' he added, when she lay on her back, leaning her head on his arm, and looked up at him as if she had been ready to refute his words. 'But because of the image of the Primera you must have had and probably still have in a corner of your mind.'

Unohana didn't rush to answer. Instead, she minutely lifted herself off the sheets, and shyly traced the edges of his hollow hole with her fingers. She stubbornly kept her glance on it, giving him the sensation that she was applying all her willpower not to look at the remnants of his mask.

'If you shine a bright light through it,' Stark seriously said, referring to the hole in the center of his chest, 'I am sure it would make for interestingly framed shadow puppet theatre.'

The words caught her by surprise, and she chuckled before she could catch herself and give the phrase any deeper implications. The implications came to her but a second later, but though she blushed, acknowledging her curiosity was at least indelicate, she continued to chuckle.

'You are an awful man,' Unohana said, biting her lower lip.

'And my sense of humour comes from the gutter,' he shrugged; the look of quiet and warm contentment on her features gave him pleasure, and he kissed her forehead. 'You didn't lie to her,' Stark whispered. 'I am sure this cannot be easy for you.'

'Yes,' the woman somewhat resentfully muttered. 'And that is why we are lying together, not an hour after I returned to this house. Looking back,' she sighed, wistfully looking at her haori, 'I think I practically jumped out of my clothes the moment I saw you – that is no way for an honourable woman to behave…'

'Ah,' Stark said, choosing not to tell her that the sensation of her tiny fingers venturing inside the hollow hole was physically uncomfortable, but catching her hand and bringing it to his lips, 'that is because I am…irresistible,' he chuckled, clearly not believing his own words. 'Not to mention supremely confident and deeply satisfying…'

'Or it could be that my sexual activities over the past two hundred years have been somewhat limited?' she asked, arching an eyebrow, and not letting him get away with the overconfident quip.

'Or that,' Stark wisely conceded, taking no offence. 'Though, if I may, that is not a thing an honourable woman should be saying out loud. Mind you, I think even honourable women should have it in mind at all times, but still,' he chuckled, bringing his voice to a comical note of righteous outrage, '_chère madame, un peu plus de pudeur__…_1'

Unohana laughed once more, not understanding the words, but grasping their meaning, then looked away. Shadows of sadness danced in her eyes.

'After the day we met,' she said, inching closer, 'after…we sat together in the dark, with your wine in between us…when you told me you found pleasure in not wishing to hurt me, when you told me that your heart…that you were in pain,' she softly corrected, knowing he would protest at the phrase, 'I felt that I should attempt fairness in your regard and try not to think of what you were…what you _are_, when we are together.'

She searchingly looked up, trying to see if her words had caused offence; the Arrancar was no longer smiling, but he was not drawing away, and she did not wish him to.

'After all,' Unohana continued, 'you are also pointedly not thinking of who I was, and I imagine it has some difficulties for you as well. I thought,' she followed, drawing a deep breath, 'that it would be hard to detach, that it would take all of my balance to make myself forget what you are, especially since…'

Her glance once more descended to the hole in his chest.

'Especially since visual cues are abundant,' Stark finished for her.

'Yes,' she admitted. 'And yet, you…'

The woman softly shook her head, and the smile returned.

'You are an awful man, and you made it easy. You are still doing so…So easy, in fact, that I felt guilty… ' Unohana said.

'Do you truly wish to speak of this?' Stark asked, swallowing dry.

The woman shifted uncomfortably, and slowly pulled the covers over her breasts, suddenly ashamed of her naked body and the fact that she'd left her mind lie before him, equally bare.

'Not if you do not wish to,' she answered. 'I find it hard to be _here_,' she followed nonetheless, straightening the crumpled sheets beneath them with her small palm, 'and be so intimate with you in body, but keep the distance in my mind. Is it mechanical to you?' she asked, in genuine curiosity. 'I know it is, for men in general, and…'

She met his glance once more, openly wondering if she should continue. Stark nodded softly.

'I fear this will make me sound very shameless,' she said, with a small defensive shrug.

The Arrancar narrowed his eyes, then smiled and pursed his lips.

'Then don't say it,' he said, with a small chuckle. 'I think the point is taken.'

Unohana blushed furiously, and clutched the sheets to her chest.

'I am not proud, but…'

'But you are alive, and a complete being, and you cannot go two millennia without being _complete._' Stark shrugged in his turn. 'Have no concern,' he added, softly. 'I certainly do not think less of you for it, though, just as you hold sex to be mechanical to men, I quaintly and stubbornly hold that it cannot be mechanical to women. Chalice of virtue and what not,' he grinned, in self irony, knowing that Halibel's shadow had drifted across his eyes, and that Unohana could not have recognized it.

'See?' she rebelliously muttered. 'You do think me shameless.'

'I do not,' he flatly declared. 'And if I did, it would be my fault. My fault,' he repeated, caressing her cheek as an excuse to keep her chin up and her glance locked to his. 'What I think you meant to say,' he braved, biting his lower lip, but recognizing that the burden of conversation was now on him, 'is that you have experienced mechanical sex before, and it did not feel like this.'

Her cheeks turned crimson, but she swallowed dry and nodded, making him laugh.

'Such are my skills,' he proudly noted, then laughed at himself when Unohana frowned, clearly mistaking his words for a serious declaration. 'No,' Stark finally answered, 'it is not that mechanical. Not the physical aspect of it – you are a very beautiful woman, and if all else should fail, that alone would insure that no sudden onset of erectile dysfunction shall plague us. In a sense,' he continued, distractedly caressing the back of her hand with his thumb, 'I cannot recall a time when it was mechanical, in the way in which you intend it.'

Unohana's narrowed eyes expressed disbelief, and he shrugged.

'I lived in a world where unless they were particularly lucky in both status of birth and intellectual endowment, women were more or less a commodity.'

He gently snaked his arm out from under her head, and lied down, to look at the ceiling.

'I do not mean one could purchase a harem, but the female sex was often the only thing a certain category had to trade – whether in the holy institution of matrimony, which often was prostitution with a single dedicated customer, or in a career with many customers.'

'Somehow, though the world changes,' Unohana sighed, 'that seems to be a constant.'

Stark thoughtfully nodded.

'Sometimes,' she said, getting lost in her own thoughts, 'I do bitterly wonder if perhaps women themselves are the ones who prefer it so…'

'Don't say that,' the man briskly interrupted, suddenly looking at her in what appeared to be genuine and frightened disappointment. He frowned. 'It may be true for some, but it is also deeply unfair to all others. It is, first and foremost, unfair to you – no matter how Aizen or Szayel Aporro view your sex, you should never perceive it as a weapon that can be used against you or just as the channel to your womb...'

Stark chose not to continue, leaving her with the impression that he had swallowed his words, because they'd been a reflex of something too distant to be remembered; he still looked to her in expectation, and the fact that she could so clearly guess what he had meant to say made her feel slightly ashamed and warmed her heart at the same time.

'You're right,' Unohana said, softly.

'No matter what happens to the body, the heart never loses mystery,' he continued, in a rebellious tone, and obviously addressing shadows past. 'All that is needed is a spark of hope and a touch of kindness to rekindle that mystery and explore it…Or at least it was so in the women I knew, whether they were another man's unfortunate wife, young women who were brave enough not to price the only part of themselves that society chose to allow them as valuable, or even those who did choose to price it. That is why, regardless of circumstance, intimacy was never truly mechanical – being with their bodies always felt like surrendering to the mystery that drives the other's heart; I could never stop myself from being in reverence to that, so I always touched the body…'

'As if you were touching the heart,' she whispered. The Arrancar looked at her as if he'd been surprised that she had understood. 'I see,' Unohana added, leaning her cheek on his shoulder. 'I wonder if you realize how much _more_ ashamed of myself I feel now.'

'Why so?' he asked, caressing her hair.

She chose not to answer, but thought of other arms and other touches – not many…the woman thought, not many, but…She'd always thought that it was them choosing to make it all meaningless; she'd never thought that perhaps she had made the choice for them, by an inflexion of her voice, or by some glint in her eyes…If perhaps it had been her withholding her heart from them, and they had merely acted in consequence.

'Your mother,' Unohana dreamily said, 'must have been an amazing woman, if she could teach you all this.'

She had expected him to tense – and he did, but only slightly. She could all but feel the pain of the memory coursing through his body, only to swiftly be replaced by the warmth and relaxation the very same memory brought.

'She was,' Stark said, at length. 'She could never do away with the chalice of virtue impression, though, and therein lies my trouble in dealing with your gender, which, despite evidence, I consider the fairer…' he oddly chuckled, making her chuckle in turn.

'She was right not to, as long as you do not attempt to apply it literally to the anatomical sex, but rather see the being in its wholesomeness,' Unohana shrugged. 'And yes,' she laughed, 'I will admit that is slightly self serving, but...'

His arm once more encircled her shoulders.

'Please do not feel ashamed,' Stark said; his fingers seamlessly found the strand of grey, and ran along it. 'I too am self serving; your mystery is such that it allows me to hide from myself. I need to focus on touching your body as if I were touching your heart, because otherwise, I would think of other things…'

'Would you think of who I was?' she questioned, and he paused, searching for the honest answer.

'Not yet,' Stark answered, at length. 'I am not actively trying to keep it at bay,' he earnestly said. 'It simply does not spring to mind, or at least, it is not the first and most immediate reference. You too,' he smiled, 'made it surprisingly easy. It may well come, at some point, and I am beginning to be a bit apprehensive of that moment, yet the feelings I am hiding from here and now are mine alone, and I am using you, in a sense. Please don't add to the bitter irony of the universe by feeling guilty for _this_ – the universe is already ironic enough.'

He caressed her shoulder, feeling that she was tense.

'You can speak to me of whatever you like,' he whispered, guessing that she was posing effort in once more imposing mental distance. 'I truly am not seeing you as anything than the woman in my arms. Just…'

He paused, and she looked up to meet his glance.

'Let us strike a truce,' Stark seriously said, and though his voice was still sweet, his glance carried unknown intensity. 'Allow me quarter when you come close to shattering the spell – I need it more than you know, and I would dearly like to stay within its bounds when we are between these walls. I hope that I will sense when the magic loses grips, and stop you, before I start to remember…'

…_who we both are,_ she thought.

'Fair?' he asked, trying to smile.

'Fair,' Unohana whispered, pressing her open palm to his chest, as if to seal the pact.

The man nodded, and, after another second of hesitation, he smiled fully and bravely.

'So…' he began. 'What do you feel that you lied to Isane, your lieutenant, about?'

'Will you always call her '_Isane, your lieutenant'_, now?' Unohana frowned.

'Absolutely,' Stark decisively nodded, then shrugged in mock defense as her eyes narrowed; she chose to let the irony pass.

Unohana sighed, feeling less compelled to speak of what she'd felt towards Isane; she had the eerie feeling he'd already grasped it. 'I feel I should have told her that you are an awful man,' she said, half jokingly.

'You probably should have,' Stark shrugged again. 'I thought that there is a secret and sacred code of women that compels them to agree all men are awful, when they are among themselves,.'

'Indeed,' she nodded, going with the joke. 'I find myself in violation.'

He shook his head, in stern disapproval.

'I also find myself wondering how you learned of the code,' she added, merry sunlight dancing in the suspiciously narrowed corner of her eyes. 'Have we been betrayed? Is there a rat amid the sisterhood?'

'Not per se,' the Arrancar responded. 'But, to let you in on a small well kept secret, Szayel Aporro is actually male, or at least all the parts are in place – you should not invite him to all female meetings…Sorry,' he said, laughing out loud at her disbelieving chuckles, which somehow did not keep a hint of reproach out of her eyes. 'it is with the gutter humour again…'

Unohana gripped his arm, once more hiding her face in his shoulder. Their chuckles died, and the grip simply grew tighter; Stark tensed in expectation.

'As this month's days followed each other,' the woman softly whispered, 'each one grew darker than the next. The attempts, the executions of families that always follow, without fail…' she continued, her attention keenly focused on detecting any additional tension in his muscles that would have warned her to stop, 'Aizen's world getting grip of mine…I tried to remember when last it was that I felt joy, when last it was that I truly felt at ease, in recent months. And the fact that I could only think of you, and your book and this garden, made me feel so ashamed...Not at the fact that I felt them with you, his Primera, but at the clarity with which I understood Isane would see _only_ that, and that I did not have the honesty to challenge her view.'

'I don't think you should,' Stark said, with a little frown.

'Should I let her think that this is a house of horrors?' Unohana asked, with a tiny note of frustration. 'If for nothing else, then I feel small knowing that she thinks me brave while I feel myself a coward who wishes to do no more than hide. In your embrace,' she whispered. 'In your words, in your thoughts…In this spell that you mention…'

The Arrancar lifted himself on his elbow, causing her to gently slip off his shoulder, and looked at her from above. His glance was serious, and, for a fleeting second, she wondered whether she should have feared what he would say.

'Do you want an honest response to that, or more gutter humour?' he inquired, carefully analysing her features.

'Honest,' she dared, making herself small and all but hiding under the covers.

'Firstly,' Stark said, 'you are yet again drawing hasty conclusions, just as you did on the night when we first met.'

Unohana frowned, and interrupted.

'You know, Szayel Aporro keeps saying that as well,' she said. 'And for all _this_,' the woman followed, 'I still do not see him as darkly he sees himself, so…'

'Well, if you can cut him slack, then I should be beyond safe,' Stark frowned in his turn. 'I am actually surprised the pretty butterfly has the grace to warn you off your tendency of hoping for the best…'

He paused for a moment, and carefully thought his next words through; she thought he was taking too long.

'I am not saying that I do not understand that we are both indulging in an artificial circumstance,' Unohana said, 'and that the circumstances also dictate our behaviours are somewhat artificial in turn. It is just that I do not believe you are now playing a part that is completely foreign to you. It just strikes me that this is a role you do not often rehearse, but…'

'True,' Stark conceded with a shrug. 'Just make sure you do not forget that this is not the full repertoire.'

'I am not,' she responded. 'But you see, Isane thinks…'

'That this part does not even exist.'

'Exactly. Why do you think that I should not correct her, in that regard?'

'Because…'

He bit his lower lip and chuckled; the sound was cold and foreign. Threatening, she thought.

'Because, chere madame, I truly do not need an image boost _from_ any of you, or _for_ any of you.' Stark said, and though his voice had not been particularly cold, Unohana did not miss the decisive and final ring of the words. 'Understood?' he said, caressing her cheek, but not disguising the fact that the question had been an order. 'With my ocean of darkness and my glimmers of light, I too am a complete being – or at least as complete as the judgment passed on me by one of your peers allowed me to be. I resent the implication that I would need you to speak up on my behalf to make Isane, your lieutenant, see that I am whole. I frankly have no interest in her seeing that, as her understanding, and indeed, your understanding, enhances me in no way.'

She swallowed dry, knowing that if she were to nod, she would do so out of fright, and not approval; Stark noted her expression, and his glance softened.

'Next time, be wise and pick the gutter humour,' he said, leaning over to kiss her on the forehead. Without knowing why, Unohana shifted upwards, and offered her lips instead – the motion seemed to appease him somewhat, and he smiled sadly as he kissed her, at first briefly, but then abandoning himself to the taste.

'Also,' he whispered, at long length, his mouth barely an inch from hers, and his fingers on her cheek, 'if you let on that this is not a house of horrors, you will be giving Aizen exactly what he wants, and demonstrate that this deeply intimate kind of harmonization between the two ends of his world is possible. In a sense, I fear we both already are doing that.'

Unohana shifted her glance away, but though she cringed, she made herself more comfortable in his arms.

'Do you think he assumed…' she bitterly wondered.

'He knows you,' Stark answered. 'And sadly, I think he knows me. Perhaps he did. But I do not want to give him this victory. I would rather give it to you and to myself.'

She nodded, and turned away to hide the fact that her eyes were welling up with tears. Stark simply placed his arm across her stomach and pulled her close, not reacting as her tears ran over her cheek and hotly streamed over his forearm.

'There are no Shinigami here,' he whispered, as sunlight overcame rain. 'Please don't bring them with you.'

* * *

1 Dear lady, some small pretence of shame...

* * *

Up next - Some omake on Stark's hidden talents, coming up later this week, and then, well...


	26. Lunch

Where IVIaedhros operates on deadlines and is confused in spite of everything.

And Stark tries his hand at cooking...

* * *

Unohana awoke feeling relaxed enough not to care about the time, and did not rush to open her eyes, though the warmth of the sunlight which bathed her pillow clearly showed that it was approaching midday. She lingered between sleep and true awakening for a few more minutes, enjoying the smell of the garden, which drifted in through the half open window – a rhythmic sound, one she could not quite place made her frown, though her eyes were still closed.

It was dry, precise, not overly loud and though the woman wished it away, it continued to linger just on the edges of her consciousness.

She opened her eyes, and listened intently.

As if pointedly evading her, the sound stopped for a few seconds, then picked up once more, with a different rhythm, precisely when she'd closed her eyes again. Intrigued, she lifted herself to her elbow, and focused, trying to pin-point the source.

'Well, I'll be!' she exclaimed, once she had identified the kitchen as the source of the sound – she hopped out of bed, taking the sheets with her, without caring that she'd pulled the pillows to the floor as well. Barefoot, and with her hair unbraided, she crossed the living room and peered into the small kitchen, eyes wide in disbelief. Of all of the many things she had seen in her long life, she thought, _this_ had to take the lot.

A small bowl, filled to the rim with neatly cubed tomatoes stood proudly on the edge of the kitchen table, next to four eggs, a piece of crushed soft cheese and a pile of thinly sliced green and yellow peppers. The fire burned merrily in the stove, heating a small piece of butter.

_There is a Vasto Lorde in the kitchen_, she thought._ And, would you believe it, he is chopping onions._

'What are you doing?' she asked, feeling that she was on the very edge of a mad fit of laughter.

'Erm,' Stark said, looking over his shoulder, and frowning lightly at the amount of surprise her voice had carried. 'Cooking. And, wishing good morning to you, half nude lady.' He grinned.

'Good morning to you too, fully dressed gentleman,' she snickered, shaking her head at the image, and biting her lower lip to prevent herself from laughing out loud.

'I was hungry,' he innocently shrugged, in the way of an explanation – and indeed, she conceded to herself, it was the best explanation of them all; Unohana leaned against the doorframe, still pointedly staring at the chopping board, until the man chuckled in his turn, admitting to the strangeness of the situation. 'No onion for you?' he asked, with a wide grin, and she bent over laughing, almost dropping the sheets which covered her, and immediately forgetting that under any other circumstance, at any other time, the last thing she would have associated a hungry Hollow with might have been onion.

'You are awful,' Unohana managed, between chuckles.

'And you are quite naked,' the man seriously returned, arching an eyebrow. He watched her laughing, allowing himself a grin of his own, and, when she finally straightened and their eyes met, she could tell that he'd been looking at the sheets but only thinking of what they covered. 'That is a dangerous state, Madame.'

Unohana blushed, and composed herself, gathering as stern an appearance as standing barefoot and wrapped in linen sheets possibly allowed.

The kitchen knife hesitantly shifted in his hand, and, for a moment, he looked as if he could not decide between putting it down and embracing her, or continuing his task – she enjoyed the sensation, so, forgetting to be stern, she allowed the corner of her lips to curl mischievously upwards. Stark put the knife down, by the side of the chopping board, and turned towards her fully.

Unohana did not withdraw, so after one further second of hesitation, the man left the side of the table, to lean one arm on the doorsill, over her head, and place his other hand on her waist; she took in the light that was dancing in his eyes, before she surrendered to the warmth of the kiss. When their lips parted, she looked up, and softly caressed his cheek, grinning inwardly as Stark's fingers sought a way towards her skin through the unwillingly intricate layering of the sheets.

The woman allowed him to think he'd caught her for another second, then laughed and darted away, just as his hand had finally found her hip.

'Your butter is burning,' she said, slipping under his arm and running towards the bedroom at lighting fast speed.

'Treachery!' he exclaimed, on her trail – Unohana simply hid her chuckles behind the Shoji panel. She thought she'd heard him laugh too.

She dressed, without hurry, and the dulled sound of chopping resumed. With almost unconscious gestures, she picked up the pillows from the floor and straightened the sheets over the bed, then, not caring for undoing her own good work, she sat on the edge of the mattress, looking out the window, and feeling, she thought, without anger, or shame or doubt, happy.

'What are you making?' she questioned, from the bedroom.

'A sort of an omlette,' Stark answered from the kitchen. 'Bit more of an eierspeise than an omlette, actually…'

The sound of the sizzling onion drowned out his voice, and Unohana pondered the names of both dishes for a moment, recognizing neither but not wishing to give him the satisfaction of asking. She shrugged to herself, then, after a final glance out the window, stood and slowly walked to the kitchen, embracing him from behind.

'And what goes into it?' she asked, bending to the side to look at the small pot in open curiosity. The smell was pleasant, but thoroughly unfamiliar, and the soft cheese had melted with the butter, bubbling merrily around the translucent onion.

'Egg, onion, cheese, smoked ham, tomato, half of Isane, your lieutenant,' Stark seriously enumerated. 'Ow!' he complained, arching to the side when she powerfully pinched his arm. '…and garlic,' he completed, giving her an innocently injured glance.

'Awful,' Unohana muttered, resting her cheek on the back of his shoulders.

'I know,' Stark shrugged. 'No fresh herbs. Let me get the ham,' he smiled – the woman reluctantly let go of him, but stayed close to the small stove.

'Where did you get all of these things?' she wondered, when he returned to her side with a cut of pork meat that she had never seen before.

'_My_ new lieutenant really needs to be kept busy,' Stark answered, with a wink. He dropped the thinly cut strips of meat into the pan, and gave the whole a gentle stir. 'I've told him to get me some things, and then instructed Szayel Aporro to stock them here,' he added, carelessly gesturing towards the door of the adjoining pantry. Driven by curiosity, Unohana drifted away from his side, and carefully, as if she had expected some monster to leap at her from behind the pantry door, pulled the panel aside. 'I think even Szayel Aporro agrees that protein is an essential component of all of my good work here…'

'Holy…' the woman breathed in, making him chuckle.

The pantry, which had previously stored some rolls of seaweed and a few bags of rice, was now full to the brim with things that she did not even recognize as food – well, she thought, feeling slightly ashamed, she did recognize some of the vegetables, and could tell that the _thing_ that was hanging from the ceiling was smoked meat, but the neat rows of jars which lined the walls, and the strange stacks of herbs which were stuffed in between them completely evaded her.

'Am I that bad of a cook?' she asked, looking over her shoulder, and voicing the first thing that came to her mind. 'You must have seriously suffered last we were together, if you took such precautions, and made such preparation…'

'No, of course not,' Stark replied, breaking the first of the eggs over the side of the pan. 'You can tell a bad cook by the consistency of their vegetables – if the vegetables are turned to mush, then the person should truly consider hiring help. You're not a bad cook at all,' he repeated, looking over his shoulder, to assure she had not taken offence. 'You do all those neat rice wraps, and everything was incredibly detailed and well presented. I…just really don't like _your_ food,' the Primera shrugged. 'It is not in how you make it, simply…'

He sighed deeply.

'Somehow,' he said, 'I imagined that all food in heaven would be French.'

The woman giggled at the irony, and gave him an apologetic smile.

'Sorry,' she said. 'Sushi makes you live longer, apparently.'

Stark rolled his eyes.

'It is not that you live longer – it just _feels_ longer,' he muttered, and tossed the eggshells over his shoulder, finding the rubbish bin with remarkable aim, but still making her cringe at the small amount of liquid that had dripped on the floor, before the shells had disappeared into the bin.

'Can I help with anything?' Unohana asked, coming to his side.

'Yes, get the half of Isane…'

He did not have time to finish the phrase; Unohana ran her fingers up and down his ribcage, on both sides, making him jolt to the side as if he had been burned and bend over with uncontrolled laughter.

'Unfair,' he gasped. 'My very confessions are being used against me…'

'Yes, well, if you are being awful, then I have a right to be awful as well,' she shrugged, picking up the wooden spoon and gently stirring the contents of the pot.

The egg was beginning to gain consistency, and the only two ingredients left out were the pepper and the tomatoes; she cranked her nose, considering the options, then gathered the peppers and added them to the pot.

'You could peel one clove of garlic for me,' he said, straightening and expectantly stretching his fingers out – in the open demand that the wooden spoon, and the mastery of the dish was returned to him. 'Unskilled labour, as it were,' he shrugged – Unohana laughed, and ceremoniously handed over the spoon, then headed into the pantry and found the garlic.

'Just one clove?' she asked, reaching into the satchel.

'Yes,' Stark answered, sounding absorbed in his work.

Unohana blindly crushed one of the garlic heads between her fingers, and separated one clove, rubbing it free of all leaves before extracting it from the satchel, then returned to the kitchen. She gave Stark a passing glance before she took a dull knife from the drawer and peeled the clove. The Primera seemed absorbed with his creation, and was carefully making sure that the egg did not catch on the sides of the pot – once she had passed the garlic to him, he diced it with remarkable speed and dexterity, then added it to the tomato bowl.

'You can only do this at the end,' he smugly explained, holding the tomatoes over the pot as if expecting the precisely correct moment to add them to the mix. 'If you do it too early, the garlic burns and turns bitter, and the tomato gets…erm, mushy,' he concluded, shrugging in apology for the fact that he could not find a better word.

She chuckled, and, guessing that the food would be ready soon, went about setting the table and warming water for tea, still observing him through the corner of her eyes.

The last of the four eggs went in immediately after the tomatoes; Stark carefully shook the pot twice, without stirring, then pulled it to a side of the stove, away from the hot flame and on moderate heat.

'Are you hoping this will hold together?' Unohana asked, sitting down, and guessing what he intended to do. Still, she thought, the ensemble looked too disorderly and was simply too much for a single egg to hold it.

She closed her eyes, breathing in the pleasant, unknown smell, almost missing the fact that Stark had questioningly glanced at the pot, then looked at her with a rebellious frown.

'It will hold,' he said, with supreme confidence.

'M-hmm,' Unohana nodded, demonstrating nothing but doubt.

'Less questions, more salad,' the Primera demanded. 'Unskilled labour is needed once more – would you mind fetching a lettuce? In the pantry, on the right, there should be…'

Shadow stepping had many benefits, she thought, holding the lettuce up to his face before he'd even finished the words. He blinked twice.

'Washed lettuce,' Stark said, not granting her the victory.

He overturned the pot onto a plate, and gave her a triumphant smile when the contents came out as a single, perfectly rounded piece. She did not mind. She washed the lettuce, ripped out the roots, then considered for a moment before tearing it to strips in her hands rather than cutting it.

'You are beautiful,' Stark off-handedly said, as she was reaching for a wooden bowl.

Suddenly, Unohana felt as if she truly was.

The perfect, rounded creation of the Primera fell apart as soon as he cut into it; Unohana laughed, and stood away from the table to fetch a spatula, while the man contemplated his failure in defeated silence. She ruffled his hair before she sat back down and served them both – despite its presentation, the crossing of the omlette with eierspeise tasted good; the salty cheese and the smoky flavor of the ham melded together well with the sweetness of the onion and the freshness of the barely warm tomato.

'This is actually excellent,' Unohana said; Stark sighed, looking at the loose pieces of egg on his plate with such deep sorrow that she had to laugh. 'Look – you simply need a bit of common sense,' the woman giggled. 'It was clear that one single egg would not be sufficient to hold this through; you would have needed one more, and you should have beaten them together, to make sure that the yolk seeps through the entire thing.'

'Oh well,' the man sighed, sounding unconvinced – she simply leaned over and kissed him on the lips.

* * *

Everyone enjoy? I hope so, because next time the angst returns, though at least with some explosions.


	27. Out in the World

Where IVIaedhros is less confused, the cavalry arrives after the fact and the relationship angst returns full force.

* * *

_August 15th_

She looked over her shoulder, instinctively wondering if the convoy which stretched behind her was still complete after the punishing, quick march which had brought them to the gates of the 13th division, and bitterly cursing the new regulations which prevented her from using her shikai without the explicit permission of her shadow.

The explosion had been so vast that it had lit the night sky for miles; now, but half an hour later, tongues of orange lapped at the sky, and black smoke rose in softly spinning pillars. The grounds of the 13 glowed in the darkness, sending massive, loose waves of chaotic reishi through the energy fabric of Sereitei.

Predictably, Szayel Aporro had vanished as soon as he had seen the flash, and Unohana, who'd been desperate to bring immediate help to those who must have been hurt in the massive conflagration, had had no one to ask permission for using her shikai from.

While the 4th division pulled its rapid response capabilities together, its former commander had painfully debated with herself whether she should have gone against the irrational new regulations. Minazuki's shikai form could carry almost fifty people, and, if required, it could heal hundreds in a matter of hours. Unohana had no doubt that Szayel Aporro would grant her retroactive permission to use it, and she had no doubt that the Octava would even go as far as lie and say that he had approved the shikai before hand, if the situation arose. Still…

She'd been frightened that without Szayel's protection, and with almost all of the 4th having come out of its compound, punishment would be delivered before the Octava had had a chance to intervene. The explosion, which spread the scent of sulfur for long miles, had probably struck the eastern quarter of the 13th. Why the area had been targeted was unclear, still, Unohana imagined, there would be plenty eager to lash out first and ask questions later. Even if Szayel would truly lie for her, there was no guarantee that she would find him in time to prevent the healers from becoming the target of furious retaliation, and _lawful_ punishment for her own lack of observance of the rules.

Unohana had therefore made the painful decision of marching her healers out without Minazuki's aid. Supplies had been piled into carts – bandages, anesthetics, oxygen tents, hydration units – and the 4th had marched out, in a painfully slow, unusual and unapproved procession.

She silently counted how many of her people stretched in the line behind her; she could not truly see them all, as the black kimonos disguised them in the night, but she could hear the screeching of the wheels which carried medical supplies, and see the resplendently white linen of the neatly piled stretchers.

She counted six stacks of stretchers. That was good; it meant only two carts had lagged behind, and that the 4th would have sufficient materials to deal with the most immediate issues, and that the additional implements would arrive in time to deal with those who did not demand immediate attention.

The former captain of the 4th could sense that her lieutenant was tense beside her, so she attempted to smile reassuringly, but did not quite succeed. After months in which none of them had left their division grounds, the rest of Sereitei looked alien and forbidding, long rows of houses behind tall walls, all menacingly quiet, and isolated.

It all seemed wrong – there was no way in which the explosion had not been heard. No one could have slept through the noise, and the immense disorder which still lingered. Furthermore, now that she had almost reached the gateway of the 13th, she could hear signs of frantic activity from within. It was truly impossible that the inhabitants of nearby quarters could get any rest, or ignore the noise and light. Why then, she had bitterly wondered, were the streets so empty and the houses so very quiet? In the past, the narrow alleyways would have been teeming with people eager to help, or those who were simply curious. Now, nothing moved; Sereitei was drowned in darkness and frozen in fear.

The large, wooden gateway pulled aside as soon as Unohana had reached it. For a split second, the woman felt joy at seeing the faces of the four Shinigami which manned it; though they were tense, the four young men clearly welcomed the 4th Division's presence, and felt happy to simply see other Shinigami.

_No wonder_, Unohana thought, giving them a small bow in sign of greeting. _Aizen would have us all believe that we are alone._

'What happened?' she asked, standing aside and signaling to Isane to lead the convoy through. The young man she'd addressed, a tall, blonde and somewhat lanky individual, looked as if he'd been pondering whether it was alright to answer. Perhaps he was afraid to, Unohana guessed, smiling and touching his shoulder, while letting her energy loose, as if to assure him she would protect him.

It was a lie, though, and she felt marginally guilty; she could not know whether or not she could protect him. She could not even know if she would be able to protect herself – the new regulations completely forbid contact between Shinigami of different divisions, and the only rumours that ever penetrated division walls spoke clearly of how harshly those who attempted to infringe were treated.

'What happened?' she repeated, kindly, as the fourth cart of the convoy passed through the arched gateway.

'We do not know for sure,' another of the guards, a short and stocky man, who seemed far older than his companions, responded. He came close, giving the blonde and overly silent Shinigami a stern glare. 'As you clearly know, a very large explosion occurred next to the Captain's quarters, on the borders between the east and north districts. The Arrancar have cordoned off the area, and…'

He froze, and the words froze on his lips.

Unohana lifted her chin.

A tall, blonde Arrancar, followed by two lesser formed hybrid Hollow made his way through the now still convoy of black uniforms. The mask which completely covered the upper side of his face caught the moonlight and was eerily resplendent in the darkness. As he approached, Unohana noted that a second row of teeth lined his pointy chin; though he attempted to look very composed, and did indeed radiate some confidence, his stiff shoulders, and the fact that his hand was squarely placed on the hilt of his rapier were tell tale signs of tension. Still, when he spoke, he did so in a voice which betrayed no emotion.

'This is unauthorized,' he said, quickly identifying Unohana by her white and unmarked haori. 'You cannot pass.'

The four gate guards instinctively retreated behind the woman; as he passed by her, the short, stocky man gave her a bitter and apologetic glance, as if showing he regretted his cowardice, but could do nothing to avoid it.

'The circumstances…'Unohana began, kindly but decisively.

'Regulations make no allowance for circumstance,' the Arrancar replied, briefly.

'My shadow…'the woman began again, only to be once more cut off.

'That is not _exacta_, Unohana Retsu of the 4th Division,' the Hollow said. 'The Octava Espada, Szayel Aporro Granz-sama is not expecting you, and has left you with no orders.'

'And how can you know that?' the woman queried, forcing herself to smile.

The Arrancar hesitated slightly.

'He was here before the sound of the explosion died out,' he answered, letting her guess whether she had sensed just a minute trace of irony in his voice. 'He would not have had time to issue communication or orders, and the probability of you having been in his presence just as the explosion occurred is very small.'

He considered the sentence carefully.

'It is improbable that you have orders,' he corrected himself, leaving her with the impression that he was seeking the most exact manner of expression possible.

'What is your name?' Unohana asked, doing her best to sound patient, but wistfully glancing over his shoulder, and towards the tall pillars of fire and smoke.

'Carias, Findor,' he replied with a proud undertone. 'Fraccion to his majesty, the Segunda Espada Barragan-sama, and second shadow to the Primera Espada, Stark. This is unauthorized,' Findor repeated. 'You cannot pass.'

She sustained his glance; behind the oppressive weight of his mask, his eyes were light blue and clear.

'People are injured and in need of assistance,' Unohana said, softly, ignoring Isane's increasing impatience and unease. Findor's shoulders slumped minutely.

'Exacta,' he said, biting his lower lip.

'Not only my people, Findor,' the woman said. 'Yours too.'

_He knows that_, she suddenly realized, as the Arrancar's glance clouded over with thought. _And he is thinking of it…Gods, let reason prevail…_

'Exacta,' Findor said; contrary to her expectation, however, he did not step aside, but minutely and defiantly raised his chin. 'This is unauthorized.' He concluded. 'You must return to your Division grounds, now.'

Unohana's smile widened, and Minazuki's energy rose about her so rapidly that the Arrancar drew back in obvious fright. He caught himself before he could retreat for more than a step, though, and visibly forced himself to stand his ground.

'This is unwise, Unohana Retsu of the 4th Division,' he said, narrowing his eyes. 'You are all in clear infringement of regulations,' Findor added, speaking up to make sure he was heard by the entire mass of Shinigami. 'I am legally empowered to exact punishment upon direct observation of infringement.'

He'd sounded remarkably composed, Unohana thought. Given the fact that her reiatsu trapped him as if he'd been an insect, and that his hand trembled on the hilt of his rapier, Findor Carias' show of authority was quite impressive; it was too bad, the woman thought, taking a step forward, that both of them knew it was unsubstantiated.

'You have no manpower to exact any punishment _at the present time_, Findor,' she guessed, immediately knowing that she was correct when Findor looked over his shoulder to one of the other two Hollow, clearly seeking support. 'Your contingent is otherwise occupied, and you are standing alone.'

And he was, she thought, gracefully tilting her head to the side; even in this overturned world, at that very moment, his white uniform was but a speck within the mass of black kimonos. He could truly not stop her if she decided to press, and she would – as would all of her division, though they all knew what they chanced the moment that they had left their division grounds. None had hesitated, however, and she would not hesitate either.

'Let me pass,' she said, bringing her reiatsu to punishing strength. The not fully formed Hollow behind Findor whimpered and moved towards each other. 'I intend no harm.'

Isane's hand drifted to her zanpakutoh.

'I cannot,' Findor said, simply and bravely. 'This is unauthorized.'

'Findor... What is this?'

It was Isane's turn to whimper and bend over, as if she had been struck; indeed, Unohana herself staggered, not in fear, but in utter surprise at the sheer strength of the newly appeared reiatsu. Despite Minazuki's energy, she felt tremendous weight on her shoulders, and cold, grating energy bit at her skin. She did not recognize it, and awkwardly thought that Szayel Aporro's reiatsu suppressor was a work of art; she'd truly never felt this energy before.

But she'd recognized the voice clearly enough.

Shoulders habitually bent, Stark strode by, somehow appearing from behind her, and passing close enough for her to note that the fresh scent of his tunic did not fully hide a distasteful smell of burned hair. Their glances crossed for a mere second; he looked half asleep.

Without hurry, Stark came to stand between Unohana and Findor, quietly appraising both though half lidded eyes. Isane protectively moved to her captain's side, but the Primera lent her no attention.

'Findor,' the Primera tiredly said, 'what did I tell you about the only thing that really irks me?'

The other Arrancar was taken aback to such an extent, that under different circumstances, Unohana would have found it amusing. The question seemed to shatter all of his carefully constructed confidence, and his shoulders visibly slumped.

'Err…commotion, Stark-sama?' Findor asked.

'And what is _this_, Findor?' Stark sighed.

'I believe this could be described as commotion, Stark-sama,' the blonde Arrancar replied.

'Yes,' the Primera sighed again. 'Let's not do that, shall we? I am, really, so very sleepy and all of this is keeping me up...Don't give me a headache too, eh?'

Contrary to his words, and to the sound of his voice, which had truly been that of a man who was sleepwalking, Stark turned swiftly towards Unohana, his blue eyes still half closed but undeniably awake and attentive.

'Unohana-san,' he greeted, neutrally. 'Ladies,' he corrected, finally taking note of Isane, and giving the stunned white haired young woman a brief nod.

Unohana bowed stiffly and mechanically; Isane was too fascinated to move.

'Please proceed,' he said, extending his arm as if showing them both in.

'But, Stark-sama!' Findor protested, advancing and oddly giving the impression that he was going to tug on the Primera's sleeve to make himself heard. 'This is unauthorized!'

Stark winced.

'Findor,' he patiently began, as the convoy slowly resumed its motion; there was no trace of anger in his voice or in his energy, Unohana thought. In fact, it simply seemed that Stark was helping his second in command reason things through in a different light. 'What _is_ authorization?'

'An event when Aizen-sama, Ichimaru-sama, or Tousen-sama, or any of the Espada or seated shadows give explicit verbal or written permission for an activity,' Findor recited.

'And what did I just do, my good man?' Stark asked, in a calm voice.

'You gave explicit verbal permission,' Findor sighed, sounding relieved.

'There we go.' The Primera encouragingly said. 'Let's keep with the program and think on our feet.'

Without a further word or glance in Unohana's direction, he slowly started towards the raging fires, clearly expecting to be followed. Findor did not hesitate; if anything, Unohana thought, the fact that Stark had so swiftly resolved his internal rule-abiding conflict put a small spring in the blonde Arrancar's step.

She allowed herself a moment of distraction, and felt slightly ashamed. In the rush of the emergency response, and throughout the march, she had not, for a single second considered that this was _his_ division, and that this would be the first time their paths crossed in the real world. She had half dreaded the moment for weeks, and had felt torn between the fact that she enjoyed his company and his touch, but did not wish to know anything about the true _Primera,_ whom, she suspected, was probably nothing like Stark.

And yet, the thing she'd dreaded had just come to pass, so seamlessly that she had only noted the importance of the moment when the moment had already been over. Quite simply put, there had been nothing in Stark's voice or presence that had stood even mildly apart from the man who shared her bed for a week each month.

_I know him,_ Unohana eerily thought. _Even here, I still feel like I know him._

Isane gripped her fingers tightly, returning her to reality, and a mere glance at her lieutenant's features let her know that she was not positively impressed, though Stark's gesture should have warranted it.

'Is that…?' Isane whispered, not bringing herself to finish the question. 'Is…he…?'

'Yes,' Unohana said, briefly.

'Gods, the reiatsu,' Isane said, with a shiver. 'It tastes like death.'

Unohana breathed in and out, slowly and purposefully.

'Yes,' she answered. 'It does. Let's go.' She added, moving forward, to end the moment and regain focus on the task at hand. The two Shinigami caught up with Stark and Findor in but a few steps.

'Inform Ukitake that he is temporarily relieved of house arrest, and tell him to meet me,' Stark said, clearly addressing Findor and not minding the fact that the two women were within earshot; Unohana felt a sting to her heart, vainly allowing herself to hope that she would perhaps catch a glance of Jushiro.

'Where?' Findor inquired, worriedly glancing over his shoulder. It was already enough, his glance said, that the Shinigami had been allowed to intermingle; allowing two captains to even come within a mile of each other was truly…not dangerous, Unohana awkwardly recognized. Against regulation.

To Unohana's regret, Stark looked over his shoulder as well, openly pondering on Findor's question and quenching all hope of Unohana and Ukitake coming across each other for even an instant.

'Where he is desperate to go,' Stark said, briefly.

'That is not very _exacta,_ Stark-sama,' Findor hopelessly complained.

Stark shrugged.

'Tell him the name of the assailant, and tell him to meet me _there_.' He repeated, not casting any more light on the subject. 'He will know where he is going.'

'But how will _you_ know where he went?' Findor insisted, in true confusion; Stark's lower jaw clenched menacingly – not at the other Arrancar's question, but at something Unohana could not fathom.

'Don't you worry about that, Findor,' Stark growled. 'I'll find him. I would find _him_ even at the ends of the Earth. Go.'

The brief command left no further room for question, and Findor hasted away, leaving Stark alone amid the swirling group of Shinigami.

The air was becoming stiflingly hot, and the streets began to glow with the reflection of the flames. They were close enough to the scene that they could feel the destruction, but they could not yet see it; ashes drifted in the air, and Isane brought her sleeve up, to protect her face. Black smoke rose clearly above them now, the sounds of hurried steps and voices coming closer and closer with each street corner they turned.

A thin line of confused, but stern looking Arrancar surrounded the eastern side of the Captain's quarters, and more white uniforms, with the three line marking that clearly distinguished Szayel Aporro's Fracciones, moved slowly in the background, employing some form of reiatsu technique that Unohana did not recognize to stifle the flames; burning buildings went out one by one, as if the roaring, twenty foot tall walls of fire had been naught but the frail flames of a candle.

'Gods,' Isane whispered, not in fright, but in awe.

Despite the Arrancar's efforts, and the perfect, methodical way in which they went about their task, the fire continued to spread, both due east and due north. The long lines of interconnected roofs aided the spread, while wooden porches fed it.

'I believe you should attempt to break the fire line…' Unohana began, taking a quick step forward; Stark looked over his shoulder, and arched an eyebrow. Simultaneous, dry, explosions suddenly resounded from all around, frightening the group of Shinigami, and even making the Arrancar nervous – still, Unohana quickly noticed, the Hollows did not break formation, as if they had expected the noise.

Walls of dust rose in the distance, severing the advance path of the fire, and forming a precise, square perimeter around the burning area; Unohana breathed out, and bit her lower lip.

'Yes, something like _that,'_ she concluded, expecting the tired shadow of irony that had passed through Stark's eyes.

'Yes,' he nodded briefly. 'Needed to evacuate a wider area, first. Cero is not the most precise of weapons.' He added, in justification for the seeming tardiness of the measure.

The Primera advanced, cutting a straight path through the mass of kimonos and heading for the line of Arrancar. He briefly spoke to a short and effeminate young Hollow, whose mask boasted long, dagger-like canines along his cheeks. Though he was as visibly confused as Findor had been, and his body language showed no little signs of impatience at the Primera's orders, the short Arrancar nodded, and gestured for the line to open and allow the Shinigami through.

Isane frowned, as if she could still not bring herself to believe what was happening, but did not have time to voice the questions that had formed in her eyes. In her turn, Unohana felt little to no surprise, but did not allow herself to wonder why she did not.

The Arrancar, and more pointedly, Stark and Szayel Aporro, were acting in a perfectly reasonable and logical manner, performing exactly what Unohana would have expected a Gotei division should have performed. Furthermore, the woman dazedly and regretfully thought, bringing to memory moments of disaster past, the response was far less chaotic than that of the Gotei might initially have been.

The 13 divisions would have taken far longer to organize, and would have ended up either duplicating work or ignoring whole sections, before the captains could coordinate. Lack of internal communication, which had always been the Gotei's bane, was absent – whatever words Szayel Aporro and Stark had exchanged, they both clearly knew what to do, and Stark's Arrancar did not step on the toes of Szayel's army of Fracciones. One set guarded the perimeter, the other extinguished the flames.

_And we are here to tend to the wounded,_ Unohana thought, with an inward shudder. _It's working_, she bitterly realized. _Aizen's order is working._

'Come,' Stark said, from up close, giving her a small start. She looked up, meeting his glance, and nodded in response. He started to walk, not ahead of her, but beside her; though voices rose all about, and figures, both white and black, rushed by, she felt at ease, and able to focus on no more than the task ahead.

'It is odd,' Unohana said, quietly.

He did not turn to look at her.

'Yes, it is odd,' Stark responded.

Unohana distantly wondered if Isane, who had fallen in step behind them, had heard the exchange, and what she made of the sight of the two of them walking shoulder to shoulder. The thought was brief, and vanished as quickly as it had emerged.

He'd brought them across the line and at the centre of the disaster; a sixty foot wide crater lay agape where half of the Captain's quarters had once stood. The explosion had blown away a significant portion of the adjoining barracks, and damaged all buildings that were within a few hundred yards. Several Arrancar bodies, burned beyond human semblance lay side by side on the edge of the crater; a similar, but smaller line of Shinigami bodies lay closer by.

The woman tensed at the sight, but, through the pain, she noted that the reiatsu mark of the explosion still lingered in the air, an aroma which permeated the stench of sulfur and burned flesh.

_Not reiatsu neutral, thus not one of mine_, Unohana thought, feeling desperately happy and desperately guilty at the same time – why, she sternly berated herself, why did it matter? How could she think of such things…

'Isane,' she said, making the lieutenant stand to attention. 'Organise triage, please. Is there an area that could be employed…' she began to ask, turning towards Stark.

'Lumina is preparing something towards the west side of the courtyard, I think,' Stark answered. 'It is making sure that whomever is pulled out alive gets there, and raising a sterile enclosure. It is such a comically efficient little melon,' the Primera suddenly said, in bewilderment that was hard to repress.

'Szayel Aporro's fracciones are not amid the fastest moving of creatures,' Isane intervened, in a cold voice, that almost made her captain look over her shoulder in scorn. Still, Unohana conceded, Isane had a point – speed was not amid the greater qualities of Szayel Aporro's creations, and more developed Arrancar would perhaps been more suitable to the task of finding survivors in the blaze.

Stark's gaze grew cold, and his energy stirred unpleasantly. He looked to Isane with an expression Unohana found hard to read, and that somehow combined cold disgust and dispassionate observation.

'Yes, Kotetsu Isane,' the Primera said. 'They are not the fastest of creatures. However, they are also not likely to take a little unapproved midnight snack when they pull a crisply cooked but half alive Shinigami off the barbecue.'

Isane recoiled in disgust, and Unohana herself felt that her stomach had turned with nausea; the logic was undeniable, however.

'Those whom you've seen stationed on the edge of the perimeter are a tad more unpredictable than that, and they took quite a loss tonight. I thought it unwise to let them loose amid the people who attacked them. Do you find fault with my reasoning, Kotetsu Isane?' he asked, spitting out her name as if it had been bile. 'Should I tell them to break the line and head out north, in the Shinigami quarter?'

Isane clenched her teeth, and produced no reply. The Primera did not press for one.

'I trust the speed issue will be remedied, now that you are here,' Stark concluded dryly.

He remained quiet for a moment, looking onwards to the crater, and seemingly falling into a dreamy state.

'This was intended for me,' he said, to no one in particular; Unohana, who had turned away, froze in mid step. 'A random individual whom I think I have seen twice in my life burst in and simply set himself off, causing all this.'

Stark's voice had been neutral, and yet again carried more sincere surprise than anger. Still, Unohana understood what he had meant to say well enough, and bit her lower lip, feeling guilty at the twinge of sorrow that had grown in her heart. This man, this Vasto Lorde, she reminded herself, was an enemy, and an attack on him – indeed, an attack on any of his troop - should have been regarded as welcome. Furthermore, this explosion had been the only one to cause significant casualties amid the Arrancar. Perhaps, she considered, shuddering at her own thoughts, but not being able to repress them, sufficient damage to justify the few Shinigami casualties.

It was quite clear, she thought, that the attack had been coordinated from multiple sides – by all rights, on a week night, far more Shinigami should have been stationed inside the barracks. There had been unexplainably few, and the damage to the Shinigami troop seemed to come from the uncontrolled expansion of the fire due north, as well as to the debris that the blow of the explosion had turned into projectiles.

Yet, a charge that had been intended to kill Stark had razed six buildings to the ground, and spread out a fire of disastrous proportions, while he, the woman thought, meeting Stark's gaze, was completely unscathed, though he must have been standing mere feet away from the blast.

'He burned off my tunic,' the Arrancar remarked, with a shrug; she had the sensation that the futility of the destruction, and the fact that it had so wildly missed its aim made him regretful. 'And he blew up my piano,' Stark matter-of-factly said.

This time, the edge of regret had been quite clear.

Stark looked at her for a moment, as if he had expected her to respond somehow; Unohana could think of little to say. She thought, instead of other things which rendered her heart heavy – she thought of the morning to come, and of the actions that would be taken.

'You were the only one who has never run a decimation,' she said, distantly.

_I guess you will do so now, _Unohana thought.

The dreamy look on his features did not change for a moment longer, but strangely, when it did, he attempted to smile, in a deeply tired, but winning way.

'Madame,' he said, softly, his voice and the look in his eyes making Isane gasp out loud. 'Please rest assured on my deepest consideration. And,' he added, 'as a brief reminder, I believe you are informed of my stance on extravagant penalties; it is not original, but it will take far more than this for me to disagree with Monstesquieu.'

Stark bowed briefly, maintaining correct distance, and took one step forward before starting to Sonido.

'I can always requisition another one of Kuchiki's army of pianos,' he said, yet again, towards no one in particular.

Despite the fact that the world was in flames around her, Unohana briefly stretched out her hand, the touch of her fingers across his elbow was as light as her heart suddenly felt.

_I know this man,_ Unohana thought, understanding the promise she'd received, and how irrational it was that she had immediately believed it. _I know this man._ _And he is still awful._

She headed west at a rapid pace, not looking over her shoulder to Isane's shocked and deeply disapproving features.

Ukitake's reiatsu burned strongly and steadily, overpowering the tremendous turmoil of all other energies. Most assuredly, Stark thought, sensing that the brief warmth that Unohana's touch had caused was waning quickly, Ukitake had understood well enough what he was expected to do, and was making sure he would quickly be found.

Stark stopped his Sonido before a small, non-descript house at the far end of the southern quarter of the thirteenth; it was so far away from the centre of the division grounds that it practically have been in Rukongai.

He felt his stomach was knotted, and he felt he would welcome the surge of anger which would soon rise to cancel the pain – the proximity of Ukitake's reiatsu helped and hindered in equal measure. It helped, because the familiar hatred diminished the doubt and the sorrow; he knew that he would be walking inside the house of a family who had just lost a father and a husband, to a vain action. Although he understood that he should have felt some amount of anger, the sheer disproportionate advantage of his reiatsu simply told him that the man would have achieved as much if he had set himself on fire in protest, and without a target.

_Another pointless death, on yet another pointless day_, Stark thought; he realized he'd sounded exactly like Ulquiorra, and chuckled bitterly.

He would rather have avoided meeting his attacker's family, as he had no doubt that the sight of his perfectly healthy and undeniably alive self would be no more than an extra blow; still, for whatever it was worth, and even though he guessed that perhaps the man's family might have known about the attacker's plan, Stark had, in a short half an hour, come to grips with a very important fact about _himself_.

He would not now, or in any foreseeable future, put any children to death.

It was as simple as that.

The notion had dawned upon him with blinding clarity just as the fires of the explosion had only seeped through his Hierro, to burn the tips of his hair and cause him a few blisters. All had been so sudden that he had not even had the time to be frightened, not for a single instant, and then, just as he'd sensed that the world around him was crumbling to a hell of flame and brimstone, which, ironically, would not touch _him_, he had found he felt nothing but pity for a man who had chosen to die for so little.

_Burned hair and a few blisters on the Primera. They must think they're making serious progress._

The strategic importance of the attack did not leave him indifferent, of course. He well understood that even though he was not dead, the pitiful unrest that the Shinigami called a resistance would feel slightly encouraged by the fact that they had finally killed a few Arrancar, and demonstrated some mild hint at organization. What they did not understand, Stark thought, feeling nothing but pity, was that the troop they had hit would soon be replenished – the gateway to Hueco Mundo was now perpetually open, and the cycle of Hollow evolution had not stopped simply because the war was done.

Splintered souls still roamed vast sands, in the world beyond; they still massed together and consumed each other, and _grew, _while Shinigami recruitment had been stalled. When Barragan would feel his lot was diminished too much, the only thing that Aizen would have to do was take a short trip to Hueco Mundo, and bring back more, to replace the ones that had been lost.

_Our name is legion, for we are many._

It was also not that he did not feel regret; though he could hardly say that the faces and names of the dead floated before his eyes, he was not left untouched.

Stark had never been fond of Barragan's lot, but, over the few months after Lilinette had left him, and he'd made Findor's acquaintance, he'd come to dislike them less. Of course, Ggio Vega still did not hide the fact that he had been relegated to Stark's command as anything more than an insult to his pride, but Findor was amusing in his compulsive adherence to rules of all sorts, and, since Stark was probably the least rule-inclined creature in the vastness of creation…with Grimmjow's exception, the Primera conceded to himself, Findor had had a hard time adjusting.

Not only because Stark was not keen on regulation, but because Findor needed to be told what to do with himself, on every second of every single day. Within a few days of Findor's relegation to the 13th, the fact that he desperately needed Barragan's iron fist had become so obvious, that even Stark had understood how much genuine pain and confusion his aloofness caused in his new subordinate. He'd angrily ignored it for the first few weeks, telling himself that Findor would eventually learn something or discover some sense of initiative – the blonde Arrancar had not, and the sight of his shoulders pitifully slumping every time that Stark left his side without giving him orders had become too hard to bear.

In a sensation that he had found new and old at the same time, Stark had grasped that little effort on his part could keep another person happy, and thus had begun – at first tentatively, but then with increasing steadiness and creativity – setting forth tasks for Findor. Regardless of what the actual tasks had been, from recompiling budget reports and producing meaningless century long statistics, to writing fully fictional intelligence reports to Ulquiorra, or to simply asking him to fetch increasingly extravagant wine vintages, books and musical notes from the human world, Findor had done his best to accomplish them, and had seemed to genuinely thrive on as little as a casual nod or pat on the shoulder.

If poor, eager, honest and insecure Findor had come to harm on this eve, Stark accepted, he would have felt no little amount of regret.

_Stupid Spanish lout. And come to think that I had religiously trusted in the fact that the only one of your kind that ever longed for perfection and exactitude was Spinoza…_

By association, he regretted the fact that the others had come to harm as well; though they had all been his enemies, in a world made of sand and darkness, the fact that some had been severely injured and some were gone did not leave him indifferent. Simply because of Findor, Stark felt an eerie sense of loss. Perhaps not for the lives of some Arrancar, but for the selfish fact that, in the end, he'd never known them. Perhaps, he thought, someone who may have become Grimmjow, or Halibel…Someone who was like _his_ Lilinette was gone, and he'd never know any truths about them, nor learn anything from what they had felt and done.

He took a deep breath, and ascended the two wooden steps of the porch, minutely hesitating before pulling the main door aside. He sensed Ukitake was just beyond it, and tiredly wondered whether the sight of the man would make him feel something else than what he had felt when a nameless, pointless Shinigami had died in utter failure.

He prepared himself for the fact that it might have, then prepared himself for the next dawn, when he would have to face himself and know that he had put children to death because he simply hated Ukitake Jushiro.

All events were equally likely.

Ukitake was kneeling in the small hallway, looking deathly pale. It was not only the late hour of the night, and the shock of the events, Stark immediately knew. The Shinigami's breath was shallow and irregular, and dry, caked blood stained his right sleeve. He must have pulled Ukitake, the cripple, out in the middle of one of his bouts of illness.

_Good._

The Shinigami hesitated for a second, then bowed deeply, his forehead almost touching the wooden planks of the floor; white tresses fell along equally white cheeks, and the world was reduced to motion and impulse.

'Please,' Ukitake said, keeping his back painfully crooked. 'Spare them. Please.'

Stark ignored the plea, and pulled the next Shoji panel aside; a young man, perhaps around the age of sixteen stood nervously by the side of the door. A red haired woman, whose green eyes were lined by deep, dark circles sat in a corner of the chamber, gripping a little boy and a female toddler to her chest.

It took him but a glance to understand the truth – both the oldest child and the mother had known about the attacker's intentions; there was a harsh line in the corner of the woman's lips, despite the tears that were freely flowing down her cheeks, and fire still raged in the young man's eyes, with such intensity that Stark had wondered whether a second blast awaited him here.

The family had made some hasty preparations, far more than the mere half an hour which had passed since the explosion would have warranted – he could see drawers that were not properly closed, and places on the walls where framed portraits had hung, which now stood empty; he could also catch a glimpse of several half wrapped parcels lying in a dark corner of the room. They'd probably been attempting to flee just as Ukitake had arrived.

He briefly wondered why or how Ukitake had stopped them.

In awkward silence, he met and sustained the teenager's glance, and saw himself reflected within it; the particular brand of hatred that nested in his dark eyes was Stark's very best friend too. He thus viscerally understood its power, and its tremendous anesthetic qualities – he did not fully understand recklessness it caused, but he supposed it was a factor of age. This boy did not know what life meant, and had no reason to fear losing it.

His mother should have been different, Stark thought shifting his glance to the woman. She instinctively gripped her children tighter, causing the toddler, who understood nothing but the fact that she was being held too tight, to start crying. Still, the woman clenched her jaws, her expression mirroring that of her husband just before he had set himself off.

There was nothing to say or do here, Stark thought. They were all equally prepared to die.

The Primera looked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the Shinigami's figure; Ukitake had straightened his back, but kept his head bowed and awaited in tense silence, visibly forcing himself not to look the Arrancar's way. For the first time, the sight of his humility was deeply appeasing – or perhaps, Stark thought, it was the first time that the Shinigami was truly being humble and knew himself utterly powerless. On every other occasion, Ukitake had had a contingency plan; the time he had stolen by stalling the evacuation of his troops had been well spent, and the fact that he had been unable to give them word through Kotsubaki Sentaro had been a combination of good luck and good reasoning. Still, thus far, Ukitake had never truly had to hope for Stark's indulgence – whether accepting humiliation after humiliation worked or not, he'd always had a plan or some hope in the background.

Not now.

Judging by his paleness, this event had caught him as much by surprise as everyone else, and he knew himself powerless in deflecting retaliation; furthermore, Stark thought, feeling a twinge of cruel amusement, Ukitake knew nothing of the attempt's results. From his house, he could only have seen the fire and guess where it was spreading towards, but he could not know how many dead and how many injured his side had sustained – in absence of information, the Shinigami was probably assuming the worst: that his _precious_ division had just decimated itself.

_I wonder how long I could keep you thinking that, Ukitake Jushiro… _ Stark thought.

As if sensing his enemy's gaze was upon him, the Shinigami bowed his forehead even deeper, cutting off his already strained breath, and Stark looked away, understanding that there was little else but the painful pose Ukitake could offer. He'd probably read their hopelessness and resolve as clearly as Stark had; he probably found himself hard pressed to speak of innocence in their defense. In intent, at least…

The young man kneeled by his mother's side, and she snaked her arm around his shoulders, letting go of her daughter; the little girl climbed in her brother's lap and hid her face to his chest, continuing to sob. The woman looked to them for an instant, then shifted her glance back to Stark; her tears had fully dried.

'We are ready,' she simply said; Stark could taste rain, bitter hope and sorrow in Ukitake's energy. The toddler kept sobbing, and anger writhed tiredly in the Primera's heartless chest.

Of all of the emotions and all of the thoughts that he would have liked to summon in defense of his newly discovered resolution for not harming everything that happened across his path, Stark found help in the unlikeliest of places. It was neither sorrow, nor reason, nor mercy that made him stumble upon his answer. It was simply irony.

He once more met the young man's glare, and once more reflected within it – he saw himself, a creature of darkness, an oppressor, a thing that his father had sacrificed to kill, and could do no more than grin in what he supposed was a thoroughly offensive manner.

_The bad news, kid,_ Stark thought, _is that I am still alive, and have no intention of going anywhere; I plan to stay right here – and I am definitely getting a new piano. The good news is, however, that you can have another shot at me in thirty years' time. And I have no doubt that you will._

'I cannot assure your safety for any longer than half an hour.' Stark said, with a tired shrug. 'If you have a prepared route out of Sereitei, make use of it quickly.'

The teenager looked to his mother in incomprehension.

'Ukitake Jushiro will endeavor to sell your house and make sure the proceeds reach you, once the dust has settled.' Stark said, now addressing the woman.

She shook her head, as if she'd been questioning her hearing and, for a moment, a single fleeting moment, the depths of her eyes became murky and dull.

'It is a pity,' the Arrancar said, his grin fading and his shoulders growing more crooked, 'that you can bring yourself to hate anything, including myself, more than you love your children.'

He did not wait for the phrase to register, or for the expression in her eyes to change. He simply spun around and walked out, past Ukitake, who had, at some unimportant moment, jumped to his feet, and onto the porch.

Stark closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, sensing the strength of the still roaring fires, the turmoil of the injured and the steady concentration of the healers. He lowered his head and smiled, at the fact that even from miles away, Szayel Aporro's reiatsu reekedof frustration, probably at the fact that some new disposition of the sekki stone markers did not quickly enough produce a flame extinguishing void; the fact that Ukitake had hastily followed him to the porch stole something of the brief moment of peace, but not all.

'We should, perhaps…' Ukitake hesitantly began, leaving his words unfinished, not for lack of resolve but for sheer lack of breath.

'You asked me a question, a few months ago,' Stark dreamily said. 'The answer was, and continues to be – no, this is not the world that I imagined.'

The Shinigami coughed in his sleeve, but took one more step forward, then closed the Shoji panel behind him, and did not hurry to answer.

'I suspect _she, _who is my heart, has told you that already,' Stark said.

Ukitake remained silent for a few seconds longer, and, after another deep breath, both unwillingly cringed.

'Ulquiorra is here,' Stark said, looking up at the sky. Pillars of smoke still spun, slowly, obscuring the stars.

'We must go,' Ukitake said, resolutely descending the two wooden steps, and spinning around with despair driven haste. He coughed dryly, and forced his shoulders straight. 'The Cuarta will sense the both of us, and he will be here in seconds once he does. An arrest, and perhaps torture will follow, only to end in death – we must…'

'Your bankai can hide their retreat. Can it also put out the fires?' Stark asked, as if he had not heard Ukitake's words.

The Shinigami frowned deeply.

'Yes,' he briskly responded.

The Primera looked up at the dark sky for a moment longer.

'Then,' he said, closing his eyes, 'do draw on me, cripple. Show me how far it gets you.'

* * *

Coming up, Stark begins putting up yard signs and Szayael is tremendously amused. Much to everyone's surprise.


	28. Management 102

Aah, good late evening to everyone, and thank you for reading and especially dropping us a note :) Since IVI is in the wilderness, doubtlessly enjoying himself with counting how many mosquitoes he can kill in one night, the task of posting tonight falls to me; thus, we shall be seeing that Stark is not a redeemed man, just...a more subtle one, in Chapter 27

Where - We learn that sitting in meetings is not all that it's cracked up to be, especially when no hot refreshments are served.

Warnings - Gin language alert...eh, why do I bother. Y'all are here already :)

* * *

_My helplesness distracts me from my uselessness._

_-Dilbert, Corporate IT Hero_

* * *

This time, Stark thought, there was no need for pretence. No need to fake a yawn, and no need to keep his eyes half closed.

This time, he was _actually_ sleepy.

The small company sat together and all were desperately wary of each other. Not by strength, but by sheer lack of control, Szayel's impatience permeated the air, giving it a sweet, poignant and fresh fragrance, which completely hid even Aizen's energy and Barragan's open rage. Given how little reiatsu Szayel Aporro actually possessed, it was quite a feat.

The Primera's thoughts strayed far, drawing an improbable and meaningless parallel between Grimmjow's lack of patience for gatherings of all sorts, and Szayel's hatred of sitting idle.

The pretty pink butterfly probably had tens of interesting burned bodies to cut apart back in his laboratory; the last thing he wanted was to sit here, and for the fifth time falsely, but powerfully affirm that he had, indeed, given Unohana Retsu orders to join him in the compound of the 13th division. That he had authorized inter Shinigami contact, because he had deemed it logical and necessary, and that he truly did not understand the fuss.

_We're all tired_, Stark thought. _Szayel Aporro is too tired to purr, and if one looked at him in a certain light, Ulquiorra might appear pissed_. _Findor,_ he imagined himself saying, _make a record of this – it will be nine cycles of incarnation and tens of thousands of years before it occurs again. Carve the image in stone, my good man._

Ukitake Jushiro had put out the fires that his former underling had set off in a matter of minutes. Sogyo no Kotowari's bankai had swept over the 13th division grounds, and brought semblance of peace over the ruins; the smoke no longer rose in tall, solid pillars, but in wisps which tentatively reached towards the clear morning sky, from a sea of dead ashes - an aftermath which had to be dealt with. How it would be solved was sufficiently important for the Creator to make his way out of the 1st Division quarters, and descend among mortals.

_In vulgus. And without tea._

Pale but composed, Unohana sat behind Szayel Aporro, never looking towards Aizen or Ichimaru, but not lowering her glance. Stark could not see Ukitake – just as Unohana, the white haired captain sat quietly behind his shadow, producing no more sound than the pained and predictable wheeze of his breath.

_I truly wish he'd stop that, _Stark thought.

'I approved the use of bankai,' Stark repeated, for the tenth time.

Or well, he thought, it was probably not the tenth time. It just felt as if it had been, though to Ulquiorra, the affirmation did not seem to exhaust the subject.

'Uhm,' the Primera coughed, raising a hopeful glance towards Aizen. 'Apologies?' he said, topping off his insincere offering with an equally insincere shrug.

Aizen did not react, but Gin, who was sitting at his side, marking an odd, physical balance point between the Octava and the Primera, and the Cuarta and Segunda, shrugged in his turn.

'Ya know, Ulquiorra, that's sorta kinda why we delegated power of authorization. Shit was fuckin' burnin', mate.'

Sometimes, Stark thought, he could assume that under different circumstances, he might have liked Ichimaru Gin.

Ulquiorra was still unconvinced. Not of the necessity of the bankai, Stark thought – the thing that the Cuarta found hard to believe, and the reason why he continued to press the argument was that the Creator was not intervening on his behalf, and that Gin was visibly siding with Stark.

'It is not the propriety of the established delegation method that I am questioning, it is the Primera's usage of it. I am not convinced of the necessity of the bankai itself,' the Cuarta said, dryly. 'No immediate emergency warranted this kind of response; the Octava Espada was making good progress, and, by the time that the bankai was summoned, both populations had been more or less evacuated from the afflicted area. No emergency action was required.'

'Don't get ya, mate,' Gin shrugged, in Stark's turn. 'Ya sayin' Stark oughta have let more stuff burn?'

'I do not believe the bankai was necessary, either,' Szayel Aporro resentfully muttered. 'The situation was under perfect control…'

Gin rolled his eyes. 'Man,' he began whining – Aizen, who'd been dreamily looking away and absenting himself from the conversation, looked up, cutting his lieutenant short.

'Enough,' the Creator agreeably said, and the room became colder. 'This is not a subject of interest to me. Ulquiorra.'

The Cuarta could not have sat straighter in the first place, thus, the prompt did not make his shoulders straighter or his chin rise – it made him vibrate from his entire being, like the pinched chord of a musical instrument.

'Aizen-sama,' he answered.

'I understand the perpetrator is dead,' Aizen followed. 'I trust his immediate family is under arrest?'

Unohana's entire body tensed, and though she did not move, Stark imagined she would have liked to questioningly glance his way before hearing Ulquiorra's answer. To his credit, Ukitake reacted in no way; his energy did not change flavour, and his breath did not change rhythm.

In turn, Ulquiorra smirked, understanding that the discussion had arrived at its important point, and that he would have to admit to failure before all of the others. A small avatar of Lilinette, complete with little feet that could always find one's most tender spots rose and giggled in Stark's mind.

_In ya face, Schiffer! _She echoed, making Stark wish that when he'd made his decisions, hours earlier, he would have had the pleasure of this moment in mind as well.

'No, Aizen-sama,' Ulquiorra responded, dryly.

Aizen arched a surprised eyebrow.

'Is that so?' he asked; perhaps, Stark thought, some of the surprise was genuine. It was probably the first time that Ulquiorra failed at an assigned task.

The punishment of the increasingly occurring explosion attempts was a central prerogative, and thus one that was not left to individual shadows – the reconstructed Secret Mobile Corps, under Ulquiorra's command, oversaw all matters which regarded the security of Sereitei as a whole. Apprehending the attacker's family, and overseeing the execution, had, therefore, been Ulquiorra's assignment alone.

'My deepest apologies, Aizen-sama. No effort is being spared.' The Cuarta said, with a short bow.

'I should hope so,' Aizen said, dryly. 'I am not enjoying this,' he said, with a twinge of genuine irritation - the occasion was too good to be missed.

'I actually am having quite a bit of fun,' Stark said, in the awkward silence that followed. 'Figuratively speaking, of course,' he innocently shrugged, when all glances, including Unohana's, turned to him.

The situation was tense and eerie, Stark thought, and though he knew he had little chance of defusing it, he would have liked to try, if for no more than in the interest of leaving the room, curling in a corner and sleeping through the next two weeks. He could not guess what Aizen hoped to achieve with this meeting, the first one which had had the shadow Arrancar and the former Shinigami captains in the same room - had it been anyone but Aizen, the Primera might have suspected it was a genuine knee-jerk reaction to the night which had just passed. Yet, had the attempts caused genuine concern with the Creator, Aizen's normal behaviour pattern would have pushed him to take as much distance from the situation as possible, and instead set Gin and Ulquiorra on the blood trail.

Aizen did not show irritation, concern or surprise before his creation or before his humiliated enemies; on all occasions, he was all-knowing, all-powerful and serene.

Why then, Stark continued to wonder, had he staged _this_? For all practical matters, the situation was more appropriate to a discussion amid the Espada, and having the Shinigami present seemed akin to an airing of dirty laundry. It was not in the New Central's interest to show that Stark and Ulquiorra were at war with each other, nor was it in their interest to show that the Arrancar troop was aware of multiple failures in its security chain. Yet, it seemed that Aizen was pushing precisely towards that - perhaps in as punishment towards Ulquiorra - and if that was what the Creator was seeking, Stark thought, for this time alone he would be a good underling and oblige.

If indeed Aizen was displeased enough by Ulquiorra's uncharacteristic lapse to administer a public dress-down, several advantages could be drawn. Not the least of which, Stark thought, getting a tighter grip on Ukitake's tenders; if he could manage to wrestle some decision making power from Ulquiorra, in what regarded how punishment of various real or imaginary transgressions, he'd have a far more powerful weapon to hold over the Shinigami's head.

Whether he'd use it or not, Stark dreamily thought, remained to be seen.

'If anything,' he began, 'I am surprised at the lack of control of the Secret Mobile Corps. The Cuarta would have us believe that Sereitei is airtight, and that communication between divisions and Rukongai itself is not occurring. Clearly...' he shrugged, leaving the rest to the audience's imagination.

Ulquiorra tuned his frozen glance towards Stark.

_If looks could kill..._the Primera thought, with an inward chuckle. He pressed.

'To me, it looks that the only thing that the Secret Mobile Corps is succeeding at is making normal and approved communication channels and supply lines hard to use. I mean, getting a transport of new uniforms is an uphill battle, but smuggling explosives seems to be a synch. No offence, master Schiffer, but I think it should be the other way round.'

'It can be pointed out,' Ulquiorra replied, in a flat voice, 'that nothing of this scale has occurred anywhere else. I can, therefore, assume that it is something in the lax supervision of the 13th that enabled this event.'

Stark grinned wide.

'Well, that's possible' he said, 'but the point remains. Without the explosives, all that the lax supervision would have led to would have been some organised but harmless outlet of public anger. I don't know - something along the lines of egg-throwing? Ironically, getting hold of an egg is harder than getting a bomb. Maybe the reasons should be sought there?'

'Ain't ya a bit too chilled 'bout all this, Stark?' Ichimaru questioned. 'I mean, fucker, ya just got your house blown up.'

'But he has, in fact lost nothing of importance to him,' Barragan thundered, finally joining the fray. 'It was _my_ troop that was struck - and I do not care whether it is the Cuarta's incompetence or Stark's characteristic, disgusting, sloth to have caused this outcome. I,' he snarled, making Unohana shudder, 'demand that _I _should be entitled to exact punishment…'

'During the working week, demanding is free of charge,' Szayel Aporro dreamily said, speaking towards the ceiling, and clearly wishing to keep a closed issue closed.

Barragan's displeasure at having his troop separated and given over to the other shadows was well known, and the subject had been discussed and re-discussed. Aizen had made his decision on the subject quite clear – the newly created contingents belonged to their respective shadows, and Barragan had no further rights over them. Though the Segunda had had little choice but to swallow the bitter pill, he gave up no opportunity of re-claiming de facto ownership of his legions.

'Shut your mouth, you backwards little bastard,' Barragan exploded, majestically rising to his feet, and bringing the entirety of his reiatsu to bear to counter the interruption; his open aggression distracted even Aizen, giving Stark the occasion of meeting Unohana's glance, and raising his eyebrows to signal that he had no clue where the discussion was heading, but that he was enjoying the scene. The woman looked mildly surprised by his attention, but nodded minutely to acknowledge she understood the statement for whatever it was worth.

For a second, Ukitake's breath hitched in surprise, in sign that he had not missed the exchange.

_You don't miss much of anything, do you_, Stark thought, sensing that the familiar fury had begin to stir and averting his gaze from Unohana's.

'I mean no offence to you, Barragan,' Szayel finally purred, the threat of the Segunda's energy making him retreat into his helpless kitten routine. 'But, if I may,' he gracefully shrugged, 'this is an issue that should be settled between yourself and the Primera; my presence here is unnecessary, and we are needlessly retaining Unohana-san from her duties at the 4th. Our time could be used far more efficiently, in analyzing samples and attempting to trace this new brand of explosive...Am I wrong, Aizen-sama?' he asked, raising his warm, adoring glance to the Creator.

Aizen did not react; in his stead, Gin helplessly looked around the room.

'Let's just all take a step back, 'ere,' he said, scratching the back of his head. 'Don't get so pissed fo' nothing, Barragan, eh? Szayel Aporro was just sayin'. He didn't mean to bite yo ass. An', Stark?'

'Yes?' The Primera dutifully perked.

'I see where ya goin' with stirring up shit, an' I don't like it, so - can it, mate,' Ichimaru said, his grin turning toothy.

Stark shrugged, and yawned so wide his jaws cracked.

'I was simply attempting to be constructive,' he said, smiling and speaking towards Aizen as well as Ichimaru. 'Someone has to step up and fill Grimmjow's role when he is not about, I feel.'

He met Aizen's gaze and narrowed his eyes.

_If you want something else, be so kind as to say it clearly,_ the Primera's glance said. _Else, we have all had a very long day and would politely ask you to…fuck off._

'If you are displeased with central enforcement mechanisms,' Aizen said, smirking as if he had read the Arrancar's mind, 'do you have anything to propose, Stark?'

'Nonsense,' Barragan unwisely blurted. 'He's going to slither under a rock and sleep for ten years, while _my_ troop has suffered...'

'I am speaking, Barragan,' Aizen said; quick thinking and reflex caused Stark and Ulquiorra to arm their respective Hierro at the same time. The full force of Aizen's reiatsu descended upon the room without warning, causing Szayel Aporro to gasp for air and emit a comical and honest pained squeak.

At the center of the room, Barragan was doing his best not to fall to his knees; the reiatsu slam had been centered on him, and merely sustaining the tremendous pressure caused crimson to creep across his wrinkled face. He could not even turn towards Aizen to question the punishment, or in any way plead for the open and sudden humiliation to cease, and, too amazed at the display to control herself, Unohana looked at Stark in open question, slightly shaking her head. Stark did not make the mistake of responding by even the most minute shrug.

In exchange, hoping that the sudden attack had caused some harm to Ukitake, Stark stole a quick glance over his shoulder - the white haired Shinigami was frowning with effort, but was enduring far better than Stark would have liked. In truth, Stark thought, Aizen's reiatsu attack was probably far less painful to Ukitake than having to watch the three Espada bare their teeth to each over the right to punish his division, without any means of intervention.

_Three very hungry wolves, circling a thoroughly helpless flock of sheep._

Stark lowered his glance, and grinned in a manner which would have made Unohana's blood freeze.

_How appropriate._

'I am getting increasingly bored with events like these,' Aizen said, kindly, addressing the threat at the entire room, but not letting the intensity of his grip on Barragan loosen. His glance slid meaningfully to Unohana. 'I believed that I had made myself quite clear in North Rukongai. Do I need to repeat myself?'

'However many times you believe it is necessary and wise, Aizen-sama,' Unohana responded, in a serene voice. 'Yet, I believe you not only made yourself understood – if anything, last night shows that you have even succeeded in teaching us all how to speak _your_ language.'

'Aye, well, an' 'ere I thought Stark was teachin' ya how ta…' Gin began, with a wolfish grin. Ukitake's reiatsu stirred, making it unpleasantly obvious that withstanding Aizen's pressure was not taxing him at all. Still, at that very moment, Stark found that he could not have cared less – a faint, pink hue had ascended to the woman's cheeks; she had not yet lowered her glance.

Stark discovered he did not want her to.

'I believe it is obvious that centrally applied deterrent policies are not functioning.' He said, clearly and decisively, in a tone of voice that none of those present, with perhaps Unohana's exception, found familiar.

'I believe I would have to hear your definition of _policy_,' Ulquiorra responded – and, Stark thought, feeling sweet joy, now the Cuarta was openly irked.

_Where are you, Findor!_

'They explode in a market at the bottom of Sokyoku Hill, we execute their families and then kill some folks in Rukongai. They explode in my living room, we _try_ to execute their families, then kill some folks in Rukongai. Rinse and repeat,' Stark shrugged. 'We've been doing that for almost a year now, and nothing much has changed. Except for the fact that families seem to have gotten brighter than Ulquiorra, and that I no longer have a piano. I really liked my piano,' he sighed.

Unexpectedly, Gin chuckled – for an eerie moment, the balance of power and understanding between him and Aizen seemed to reverse. The Creator looked at his lieutenant with an inkling of surprise, then visibly refrained from comment, allowing him to take lead.

'Well, well, if someone didn't eat their initiative cookie this morning!' Gin exclaimed. 'What's with ya, Stark, ya got hit over the head by a log or summat?'

'No,' Stark yawned. 'But I do not like having to suffer for Ulquiorra's failings…or well,' he reconsidered, distantly wondering if he could actually push Schiffer to draw on him, 'having to manage the outcomes of a process I don't control.'

'OK,' Gin concluded, as Szayel Aporro finally managed to bring his Hierro up, and felt strong enough to look towards Stark as if the Primera had been a tentacle alien being, 'ya didn't get hit over the head, ya _actually_ died an' are channeling eh…Halibel? I knew ya were close, but not that close!'

'Look,' the Primera sighed. 'It is apparent to me that the former Gotei divisions were completely separate tribes. Apologies for the _fucking_ obvious,' he said, in Aizen's direction. His mood apparently generous enough for him to cease the reiatsu pressure, and allow a deeply repentant Barragan to breathe, Aizen nodded. 'What may work with one division may not work with another…'

'The Segunda seems to have things well in hand,' Ulquiorra interrupted; though his eyes glowed with anger – a sight that reminded Stark of the Ulquiorra Schiffer he'd known before the Cuarta Espada had come into existence – his voice was still perfectly flat.

'I am unsure about that,' Stark answered. 'If you consider the disposition of the division compounds, you'll note that that 6th and the 8th are positioned centrally, and have fewer openings to Rukongai. Really hard to tell whether the lack of noise is due to Barragan's wise behaviour, or to the simple fact that the resistance networks have not penetrated that deep yet.'

'I agree,' Szayel Aporro unexpectedly spoke up. 'The correlation is unclear. My shadow command has been equally uneventful, and my two divisions are almost at full effective, complete with the old governance structures. On the other hand, Stark, the 12th borders on Rukongai in almost its entirety. Your correlation is also unclear.'

'Yes, but no offence Szayel Aporro,' Stark shrugged, with a small uncomfortable grimace, 'your people are a priori really, really weird. Nothing that's normal applies for the 12th. You are, hm,' the Primera thought, seeking the correct word, 'an _outlier.'_

Szayel Aporro emitted a theatrical huff, and looked away, crossing his arms over his chest, clearly taking offence in the fact that his language had been used against him. Gin chuckled again .

'So,' Ichimaru picked up, with a swift shrug. 'Ya got any ideas, Stark?'

Ukitake cringed; the flavor of his energy changed, and the sound that Stark had been hungrily listening for, the minute hitch in the permanent wheezing of the Shinigami's breath, resounded louder to his eager ear than a cathedral bell on a clear morning.

'I might,' Stark said, without haste.

He did not hurry the crucial moment – instead, he once more yawned, and stretched at his leisure.

'If you will consider letting me implement my own deterrence tactics, rather than rely on central enforcement,' he said, 'I'll definitely give it some thought.'

Aizen and Gin exchanged a glance, while Ulquiorra forced himself to keep staring blankly ahead, as if the situation had not concerned him.

'You have a week,' Aizen said, at long length; he stood and left, with Gin and Ulquiorra gliding noiselessly on his trail. A reluctant, and still red-faced Barragan visibly hesitated, but then turned to leave as well, still chewing on his impotent fury. Once Aizen had passed through the door, Unohana Retsu breathed out in relief at the very same moment when Ukitake Jushiro allowed himself to breathe in in true apprehension; it was Ulquiorra who spoke up next.

'I wonder why the notion that the explosives may not be smuggled in from the outside, but could actually be made within Sereitei is not occurring to anyone,' the Cuarta said, coldly, just before disappearing into the corridor.

* * *

Up next - Stark mercilessly quotes a modern day dictator. Well, you didn't imagine he only quoted french philosophers, did you?


	29. Here to stay

Thank you, ladies and one gent for leaving us a note :)

* * *

'You are being foolish,' Ulquiorra said, dryly.

Stark yawned, and considered at length whether the Cuarta's words merited any sort of response. He supposed they did, or that at least Ulquiorra thought they did – he still did not hurry.

'No more than usual,' he casually responded, so much later that the two sentences seemed positively unrelated.

Behind the Primera, Findor emitted a deep and pained sigh.

Oh well, Stark thought, turning towards the gathered crowd, and looking at them as if he'd seen them for the very first time. He could admit that perhaps he did not appear as particularly wise. He'd ordered Ggio Vega and Findor to gather all the Shinigami into the small square which lied in front of the destroyed Captain's quarters in the small hours of the morning, and he had not bothered to disarm them – it was now approaching noon, and the crowd was beginning to give very obvious signs of impatience and fearful unrest. The sight of the small group of women and children which were held under tight guard at the foot of the hastily erected scaffolding had kept them quiet so far, however, and Stark assumed that the effect of the Arrancar's weapons pointing at the hostages would keep for as long as it was necessary.

On the day that had followed the explosion, the Primera had arrested the families of the Shinigami that had been absent from the barracks on the night of the attacks. He had been holding them for the better part of the week that had passed, allowing for tension to build slowly. For the first two days, the streets of the 13th had been eerily quiet, as if the world had come to a complete standstill. On the third day, the Shinigami had tried to offer themselves up for punishment, in exchange for their families lives – their attempt had been met with cold disdain, and the families had remained captive.

Ukitake himself had attempted to speak with Stark on the matter, but he had not been received; the only reassurance he had been granted was the fact that the families were kept under the guard of a contingent of Arrancar that understood their importance and was unlikely to harm them without orders.

The morning's summons had thus ended a week of silence and pained expectation, but the setting and the scaffolding, which were frighteningly reminiscent of the still fresh massacre in North Rukongai had only heightened the fear. With every minute that passed, the level of tension in the air was increasing steadily, and Stark gave himself the pleasure of looking over his shoulder, to Ukitake's pale features. No doubt, the Primera thought, whatever weakness had been plaguing the Shinigami on the night of the attack was now in full flare and had probably not let up since then. Judging by the fact that his skin was almost translucent, Ukitake should not even have been able to stand.

Their glances crossed for a mere second; strangely enough, though Ukitake's eyes had a certain feverish glow, they carried neither the fear nor the doubt that Stark had hoped for – the Arrancar frowned in displeasure, then turned about. Not much to do there, he thought, with a tiny hint of regret. He'd let the family of his attacker go. After that unusual proof of _largesse_, it was quite likely that Ukitake did not fully believe that Stark would resort to bloody retaliation against the rest of the Division's families – it did not matter whether he did, though, Stark told himself. Ukitake could still fear a decimation, and the more important part was that the rest of the Shinigami believed that their blood would be shed, in whatever way; their fear and powerless frustration filled the air, making it oddly fragrant – Stark closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, allowing himself to savor the sensation of energy coursing through the fangs of his mask.

He briefly wondered whether Ulquiorra tasted it as well; judging by his the hungrily dilated pupils, Ggio Vega certainly did, and was probably anticipating a feast.

One of the prisoners, a young woman with pale blonde hair looked over her shoulder as the Primera approached the edge of the scaffolding and looked down – she met his gaze and instinctively covered the face of the young child she was holding with her hands. Somewhere in the crowd, her husband or brother noticed the exchange and unwisely attempted to push through the two lines of Arrancar which separated the groups. He was fiercely pushed back, causing the crowd around him to ripple dangerously and spread outwards – a flick of Ggio Vega's wrist caused all the Arrancar to draw their weapons; a few of the Shinigami responded in kind, and someone screamed.

The young woman closed her eyes and held her child closer; tears knotted under her chin.

'Stand down,' Ukitake said, inching forward – Stark's cutting glance stopped him before he could come too close to the edge, but the echo of his voice had carried over the square, causing the Shinigami to hesitate with their hands on the handles of their Zanpakutoh. 'Whatever you're about to do…' he hissed, looking at Stark through narrowed eyes. Stark frowned at the Shinigami's urgent tone, and although he could not have heard the actual words over the increasing noise in the square below them, Ulquiorra too turned his gaze on Ukitake. The Shinigami swallowed the end of the phrase, and forced himself to step back, his eyes filled with uncertainty.

_Whatever you're about to do, _Stark imagined Ukitake might have said, _do it fast._

The Arrancar kept their weapons drawn, and, for a moment, Stark's expression did not change – not paying any attention to the turmoil which had been developing in the in the tiny square, he simply sustained Ukitake's glance. The Shinigami was nervous, Stark noted, still not at the fact that the Primera would go ahead with the executions the others expected, but simply at the fact that the Arrancar would lose control of his troop, and that the resulting skirmish would cause more harm to the prisoners and the Shinigami themselves than the execution or an orderly decimation might have.

Stark wondered whether Ulquiorra was hoping for the same thing; he simply lowered his chin and smiled to himself.

He did not need to look over his see that Ggio Vega and his lot had eagerly begun to push the Shinigami back, overcompensating for the few feet of increase in the spread of the group; he also heard a surge of angry voices rising in protest. Pale as a funeral flag, and trembling with impatience and incomprehension, Ukitake continuously shifted his glance between whatever was going on over Stark's shoulder, and the Primera himself

'What do you want to…?' the Shinigami began, stealing a glance over his shoulder at Ulquiorra, to make sure the exchange went unnoticed; for some reason, Stark thought, smirking, Ukitake still thought that he would be easier to negotiate with him than the Cuarta. 'What do you want?'

The Primera felt tired.

'I would like for you to drop dead,' he falsely grinned – Ukitake clenched his teeth, and the sound of angry voices coming from all about gave way to the hiss of drawn weapons. 'Enough,' Stark tiredly said; the only two that weathered the push of his reiatsu were Ukitake and Ulquiorra. The wave of reishi swept over all others, causing even Findor to wince and take a step back; Ggio Vega's sword arm froze, as if it had been grabbed and pulled back by an invisible force, and both Shinigami and Arrancar drew back from each other, both facing the same unpredictable and crushing enemy.

Uncharacteristically, Ulquiorra arched an eyebrow. Stark simply yawned.

He approached the edge of the scaffolding, only taking passing note of the fact that the blonde young woman had fallen to the ground, covering her child's body with hers, before looking on at the mass of disconcerted black and white uniforms.

'Dear 13th Division…'

_Good afternoon, my dear Espada…_

'I do not believe we ever benefitted from a face to face introduction,' Stark said. 'Probably my fault, I am not very keen on public speaking.'

The two groups that stretched before him looked to him in equal incomprehension.

'Despite that,' the Primera continued, 'I have an inkling of suspicion that most of you had pretty clear knowledge of where I used to live,' he shrugged, casually gesturing at the crater that lay somewhere behind him. 'I am Stark.' He said, simply. 'I could tell you that I am your appointed shadow, and I could remind you that I am the Primera Espada…'

He sighed and shook his head.

'That is absolutely irrelevant to me, personally, and you already know of all of it.'

The honest tone of his voice gave them all pause – hands still lingering on the hilt of their swords, the Shinigami looked up as one. To Stark's inner amusement, even Ggio Vega was too surprised not to gawk.

The Primera considered his next words, then scratched his head.

'The reason for our little rendez-vous here is, I should think, fairly obvious,' Stark continued. 'What I am very sure is unclear is its purpose; with your permission, and barring that, master Vega's support, I shall take a moment to explain that, before we all go on our way for a well deserved afternoon nap.'

'Over the past week,' he said, sitting down on the edge of the scaffold, and crossing his legs, 'I've arrested a group of twenty two families. The number, I will admit, sounds particularly random, but like with most of the things I actually bother to do, it has a motivation. Twenty two of you, gentlemen…and ladies,' he somewhat reluctantly added, 'were absent from the barracks on the night of the attacks. Unless master Carias here has exceptionally bad record keeping skills, which I doubt, none of you twenty two had a reason for being absent – that is, a reason other than the fact that you knew what was coming, and perhaps participated in the planning. I know who you are,' the Primera said – the renewed wave of punishing energy that swept over the crowd as he looked up was almost accidental, but still caused all to sway and fight for their footing.

'I know all of your names, I know where you live, and I can take an educated guess about what you love,' Stark said, casually looking down at his prisoners – the young woman had not moved, but he thought she was trembling slightly. 'I will not refuse you group anonymity,' he shrugged, 'although I assume that now all of the others know who you are as well. They may hail you as heroes,' Stark followed, softly. 'I acknowledge that, and I guess it is in due fairness. However, I also think that is in due fairness for me to assume that the families of the other twenty seven of you who remained in the barracks that night will have a slightly different opinion of your actions. The families of the eight that died because you kept yourselves safe, but gave others no warning may feel even more different still.'

He allowed the words to sink in, noting the minute motions of the crowd –some disbelief, some stony determination, but also, Stark noted, a few individuals taking the slightest bit of distance from others; some amid the group no longer glanced upwards toward him, but at themselves.

'I do hope that if the past week has taught us all anything,' he continued, still looking over the group of armed Shinigami, 'it is that I can do anything to you. To those I feel deserve to be punished, and to those that even I know do not,' he shrugged, letting his glance slip to the prisoners. 'I feel the latter has turned into somewhat of a repetitive motif,' Stark sighed. 'I hate repetition…Master Vega, if you please,' he tiredly said. 'Let the prisoners go.'

'What?' Ggio Vega breathed, along with almost all others – Stark heard the floorboards creek as Ulquiorra took a heavy and decisive step forward, getting ready to stop the madness in its tracks. The Primera did not bother looking over his shoulder, though he was assured the expression on Ulquiorra's features – or, perhaps, Stark conceded, at least the look in Ulquiorra's eyes – would have pleased him immensely. Instead, he kept his glance locked to Ggio's fury filled eyes.

The group of Arrancar which surrounded Vega looked to the feline in incomprehension, weapons still at the ready and clearly awaiting orders from him, and not the Espada.

'No,' Vega quietly mouthed – Stark imagined that given the noise in the square, he would not have heard the other Arrancar's voice anyway. The Primera shifted uncomfortably.

'I just said I hate repetition,' he dreamily said, before abruptly narrowing his eyes; Ggio Vega doubled over, almost dropping his sword.

_Well, who'd have guessed,_ Stark thought. _Being Aizen is a lot more fun than it looks._

The effect of the attack on their perceived leader did not tarry to spread amid the Arrancar – a few glances lingered on Vega for a second longer, but as soon as the feline had faltered to Stark's vastly superior reiatsu, the two lines which separated the hostages from the wider Shinigami group began to thin. Still unconvinced and uneager white uniforms drew to the side, keeping their eyes on a new master that was far harder to read, but obviously not a tad less dangerous or decisive than the old one.

_Now, move_, Stark thought.

The first one of the prisoners looked through the thinning line, and stood shakily, looking over her shoulder at each motion but dragging her two children along. More followed her as, with uncertain steps, she waded among the thinning line of her captors. The woman was short and somewhat sturdy, with shoulder length dark hair, which the week of captivity had rendered dull, and she walked as if she'd been in a trance.

Justly so, the Primera reckoned, watching her taking all chances and her making her way amid the still drawn weapons of the Hollow. It mattered little whether one was decapitated or shot from behind.

_In the end, life is just a long series of unfortunate events._

Then, the spell broke – the group of prisoners gained speed and unexpected fluidity. Uncertain steps hastened; some lifted their children in their arms and simply ran to the open arms of their families. Stark looked for the young woman with the pale blonde hair, but she'd already vanished in the swirling cloud of people. Somehow, he thought, he'd expected she'd be the last to move.

He looked away from the spectacle of people embracing each other and casually assessed whether Vega had come back to himself – despite the openly burning hatred in his eyes, Barragan's former First Fraccion had straightened, and was fiercely gazing about himself. The fact that his long time companions had so easily discarded his authority clearly scalded more than anything else – the sight left Stark strangely indifferent.

He caught Vega's glance, and, as if nothing had come to pass, gestured for him to make sure that the cordon of Arrancar remained in place around the now larger group of people in the square, and Vega complied, making his gestures, and probably, his words, far brisker than the situation might have otherwise warranted. The first few Shinigami who attempted to slip free of the square, after the few moments of relief, found their path barred from all sides, and, within a minute, the realization that the ordeal was not over spread within the group – silence and tension descended once more, covering hasty whispers and sounds of relieved sighs like thin ice stretching over the surface of a puddle.

'We are not yet done,' Stark said, just loudly enough to be heard. 'This was only one of three things I wished to communicate.'

All frightened and uncertain glances turned to him, and embraces grew tighter.

'Findor,' the Primera gently prompted – his words were unnecessary. With regular efficiency, and sensing that his part was up, Findor had already rushed forward, to place a small, lit brazier by Stark's side.

'Now that we have established that I can do anything to you,' Stark said, after rewarding his second in command with a well disguised wink, 'I'd like to establish the reciprocity of that statement. Or rather,' he added, 'the complete lack thereof.'

Still without haste, the Primera pulled his right hand glove off, and rolled his tunic sleeve up. He extended his bare forearm through the open flame – he winced at the same time as the surprised crowd did, but kept his arm steady.

'The fire caused by the explosion, and the explosion itself,' Stark said, seemingly oblivious to the sight and smell of his own burned flesh, 'were much like this flame – regular fire, carrying some tiny traces of reiatsu.'

Ethereal blue particles began raising steadily from the air around him, and dancing towards his injured arm; in the back of his mind, Stark distantly regretted that it was probably only Ulquiorra who understood he was posing no real effort. The Shinigami, and even the Arrancar below seemed almost unduly fascinated – a few quickly cut off gasps escaped as the blue, visible reishi concentrated about the Primera's forearm, and seamlessly settled in the form of his flesh, reforming tendons, muscles, and white, healthy skin.

'This cannot touch me,' Stark said, still keeping his arm in the open flame. The steady influx of energy didn't even allow the fire to form blisters. 'You,' he continued, looking up and causing the entire crowd to instinctively step back in bitter awe, 'cannot touch me.'

'I sense all of your energy levels,' the Primera followed, in a distant tone, 'it is a skill particular to my…_natural state._ There is not a single one among you that can challenge me, aside perhaps…_'_

For a moment, he hesitated against full honesty.

'Aside perhaps _him_, on his best day,' he conceded to himself, casually waving his left hand in Ukitake's general direction. 'But his best day is far behind him,' the Primera quickly snarled; the same unwilling gush of energy accompanied his words.

The crowd was silent once more, bitter flavours of anger and frustration rising from it and filling the air; judging by the few glances Stark had caught, there were still a few who questioned the truth in his words, but then, the Primera thought, that was to be expected. Some truths were not as easy to accept as others.

Stark withdrew his arm from the flame and slipped his glove on, not rushing to speak again, and sensing the hundreds of eyes that were upon him as if they had been the glance of a single, badly wounded opponent. He looked into the distance for a moment, and drew at deep breath.

'I am unsure how obvious this is to you,' he said, softly. 'You probably think our reiatsu levels and our bodies are similar to yours, and that our levels of strength are comparable – this,' he said, once more turning his glance to the trapped enemy before him, and slowly shaking his head in something that resembled regret, 'is not the case. Not because we are in any way naturally superior,' Stark added, 'but because each of us is _hundreds_.'

He saw some in the group below cringe, and glance about themselves in new realization – they all must have rationally known that his words were correct, the Primera reckoned. It was simply that, in the eerie, still silence of the square, the honesty in his voice forced some deeper understanding.

'There are very few among us that your swords or explosions can harm,' he reiterated, in the same dreamy tone. 'Those that you can harm, like those who died last week, are easily replaced. The fact that they fell to such a weak attack simply implies that they were either immature or unusually weak, and Hueco Mundo,' he continued, allowing himself a bitter smile, 'is teeming with immature and weak creatures, all willing to be elevated by the Hougyaku's touch.'

'You are all fighting a war your leaders have already lost,' Stark concluded, with a mild shrug. 'Last week, I was given some leeway of trying to stop you from doing that – frankly, I am unsure that anything that I could say or do will attain that goal, not until you yourselves admit defeat. We are here to stay, whether you like it or not.' He said, without anger, pausing to allow the words to sink, then abruptly switching both thoughts and tone of voice.

'We shall be introducing a new policy,' Stark merrily announced, getting to his feet in an unusually energetic gesture. Behind him, recognizing the cue, Findor rushed to bring forward a wooden panel, which was neatly covered in a piece of white cloth. Stark grinned, and casually leaned against it. 'The policy will be specific to the 13th, and I shall allow it some testing time, given that it is admittedly…'

He chuckled to himself.

'Rather experimental,' he concluded, with a shrug, pulling the piece of cloth away, and revealing the sign.

He did not look towards the crowd; he had every intention of clarifying his intentions to them in but a minute. The reaction he was interested in was Ulquiorra's, and indeed, as the Cuarta read through the neat calligraphy of the sign, his eyes went wider than Stark had ever seen them, and even the corner of his lips trembled in frustration. Admittedly, ever so slightly.

'_All those who commit successful suicide attempts on legal holidays will be removed and destroyed_,' Stark read out loud, in the sudden and astonished silence of the square. 'Read it over a couple of times, it has…'

The fact that Ukitake breathed out in relief stopped him short, and he swallowed dry.

'…it has a certain ring to it,' he ended, with a thoughtful frown.

Then, unexpectedly, someone in the crowd chuckled – Stark looked up abruptly, trying to identify who it had been, and meet their glance. It was impossible; the sound had been a short, eerie outburst. Still, some of the many eyes of the enemy before him were riddled with confusion, and just a tiny, disguised hit of relief; others were still filled with rage. Others simply turned to the ground.

'My sense of humour goes unappreciated so many times that it's not even funny,' he sighed towards Findor – the blonde Arrancar did not catch the pun, but oddly enough, Ukitake did, and actually sought Stark's glance, with the shadow of a smile and an disbelievingly amused arched eyebrow.

The Primera frowned deeply, and turned away, to tiredly regain his seat at the edge of the scaffolding. He looked over the amazed group, but set his glance on the horizon.

'Yes,' he said softly. 'Indeed. The new policy means we shall be ending blanket punishments, as of today. I am too sleepy to fight a war that is already over, and I certainly have no interest in spending my time in coming up with brutal new ways of keeping you from doing so. If you wish to keep fighting this war, despite the fact that you cannot touch us, and that the only lasting damage that you do, is damage you do to yourselves, please…Go ahead. We are here to stay.'

'Nap time,' he concluded, shrugging and turning away, while casually waving for Ggio Vega and his troop to retreat and follow him. He did not look over his shoulder to assure that he was being obeyed – after a further second of silence, stunned murmurs and sounds of uncertain steps told him that the crowd was at ease. They were not dispersing yet, but it did not much matter.

He passed Ukitake without looking up.

'You are not foolish,' Ulquiorra said. There was a minute trace of satisfaction in his normally flat voice. 'You are outright insane.'

Stark looked at him through the corner of his eyes, wondering if this statement warranted a response. He sensed that Ggio Vega had used his Sonido to get on the scaffolding behind him, and thought that judging by the fact that his steps were far heavier than his lithe frame would have suggested, the younger Arrancar was also ready to give his unwanted superior quite an earful.

'Aizen-sama will never allow this to stand,' the Cuarta continued; for some reason, the statement sounded terribly amusing, and Stark chuckled.

'Ever the optimist, eh, Ulquiorra?' he asked, and this time, the Primera was the one not expecting an answer.

* * *

Up next - well, if IVI does not pick me up at the airport, nothing.

Else, Grimm and Lili get to behave badly.


	30. Crowd Control

Hey all, IVI here. In order to facilitate the writing processes, Abstract and I have been hanging out together up at my place somewhere in upstate New York. I must say, this definitely beats getting my face eaten out by various insects...rambling about RL aside, Lilinette and Grimmjow will now get to experience the joys of dealing with a large crowd of angry people that really doesn't know what it wants except to, as Grimm puts it, rip faces. This begs the question:

What would you do?

* * *

_August 22nd_

'Ok,' Lilinette said. 'This is definitely _not good.'_

At her side, Grimmjow simply shrugged.

'Dunno what you're talking about, woman. I'm seeing lunch.'

Turning away from the menacing mass of plusses before them, the girl looked over her shoulder, taking in Takeshi's deep frown.

'Dude, don't even kid 'bout that…' she whispered – Grimmjow simply threw his head back and laughed.

'Just because Takeshi don't got a sense of humour don't mean I gotta let go of mine…'

'There are situations and situations, Sir,' the young Shinigami muttered from behind – Grimmjow rolled his eyes at the appellative, which, he knew, had only been used to annoy him.

Well, at least those two had reached an understanding, Lilinette thought. Which was probably good, because the rest of the Universe didn't seem keen on reaching even a truce or something like a cease fire, anytime soon.

_Fucking hell._

Ichimaru Gin's sense of humour seemed to grow worse by the day – because, frankly, sending out the 3rd to deal with a situation like this could only have been a perverse joke. In fact, Lilinette told herself, taking a deep breath, it all was some kind of a perverse joke, anyway.

The pluses of West Rukongai had begun to stir about a week back; at first, there had been no more than gatherings and some rebellious mutterings, which, to Lilinette was fine, because muttering was good and healthy. They hadn't stopped there though. Within a couple of days, the gatherings had turned into mobs, that pointedly and repeatedly attacked the walls of Sereitei with every manner of garden implement available, and trashed all in their path. There had also been rumours of hangings and fires, and, by the looks of things, the girl told herself, the rumours could not have been far from the truth.

The crossing where they'd been standing – some twenty Shinigami and ten Arrancar, facing a few hundred pluses armed with everything that ranged between pitchforks and kitchen knives – looked like a hurricane had recently been by. Windows were smashed and wooden beams from torn shop fronts were strewn along the streets, or had been polished into makeshift spears. Unsold fruit laid about, scattered and rotting, filling the air with a disgusting, oppressive smell; the wall of Sereitei, which stood behind them, was unscathed, but the white sekki stone was marred by rounded, dark spots, where some sort of flaming projectiles had been smashed.

_What the hell do they want?_ She wondered, before she realized that at this point, the answer was largely inconsequential.

'Ok,' Lilinette said, mostly to herself. 'Ok.'

The thing was supposed to be simple. Get everyone to go home, watch that no one got trampled in the orderly retreat, then go home yourself. Nothing simpler. Only, Lilinette told herself, the pluses looked just about as ready to go home as Grimm looked ready to become a vegetarian. In truth, judging by the air of the crowd, they looked just about ready to turn carnivore. Which was, Lilinette admitted to herself, kind of ironic and really dangerous at the same time.

She fancied she'd picked her people well, at least on the Arrancar side; not that the ten she'd grabbed in the rush were less likely to tuck into a plus, but at least they were least likely to do it out of the blue, or just to spite her, like Avirama and Po might have. On the other hand though, they were also kind of weak – because the Universe somehow always struck that kind of an annoying balance: if they were strong, they were mean, and if they were smaller, they were…eh…

Probably not able to handle a situation where the Shinigami that accompanied them spun around and joined the plusses, the girl thought, casting a worried look over her shoulder.

She hoped that the chances of that were small; ironically, she was a bit more sure of the Shinigami she'd picked, than of the Arrancar. Takeshi and Matsuo were definitely on her side – for the moment, of course – and they had a pretty good hold on the rest of the others. However, Lilinette thought, there was no guarantee that if the Arrancar ran amok amid the pluses they would not step up to defend their people – as she guessed was only fair enough. She would not even grudge them too much. The key, then, was trying to get the pluses to retreat without making use of open violence. Lilinette looked for the most obvious source of open violence around.

'Ya can't be growlin' at these folks,' she hastily whispered to Grimmjow.

The Sexta looked down at her and smirked, then pointed at himself.

'I do ass kicking, not diplomatic speeches, kiddo,' he reminded. 'Plus,' he added, after a quick glance at the crowd, 'you'd have to be Apache on the funny herbs to make yourself heard in this noise…'

That part, Lilinette admitted, was also true.

The crowd, which had been rendered somewhat silent by the appearance of the small group of Shinigami and Arrancar, had begun to roar once more – she'd heard them over the wall, before the gate had been lifted, and the sound was akin to the howling sound of wind before a Hueco Mundo sandstorm. The mass had even gained courage and advanced a few feet.

'What do I do?' she asked, looking over her shoulder at Takeshi.

The young man bit his lower lip and stepped closer.

'We can't draw on these people,' he whispered, making her smirk in annoyance.

'Well, gee, thanks,' Lilinette snapped.

'The other thing we can't do is get surrounded,' Matsuo said, naturally stepping up to her other side. 'We are already with our backs to a wall,' he reminded. 'We have nowhere to retreat to, and if they manage to get up on our flanks we're going to get in a world of trouble.'

'Right,' Grimmjow agreed. 'Ok, people, spread out!' he shouted, turning around and extending his arms to the side – to Lilinette's surprise, the small company actually obeyed, and formed a very neat and orderly row. Heck, she thought, giving a short whistle, they even seemed to have their toes aligned.

'Shinigami to the front,' Taskeshi whispered; Grimmjow pondered the wisdom of the offer for a moment, then nodded in agreement just a split second before Lilinette had. The familiar black kimonos may have had a better chance at reassuring the crowd than the menacing white ones did, and, she thought, having the line of Shinigami to go through might have made anyone in the Arrancar group who was actually considering lunch to think twice about their intentions.

So far so good, she thought, watching Takeshi gesture for his guys to come a step forward. For a moment, the crowd seemed to be taken aback at the display, but the respite was only an illusion – a sharp pebble, that seemed to come out of nowhere, hit Matsuo in the cheek, barely missing his left eye.

_Here we go_, Lilinette thought.

The Shinigami looked down for a moment, then drew a deep breath and wiped the blood off his cheek with the back of his hand before falling in line, without giving her the time to even tell him that she was sorry.

'Fucking hell!' Grimmjow growled, bringing his arm up to protect his face.

A hail of pebbles and stones followed the first one, most falling about them and recoiling off the pavement, but some finding painful aim – Lilinette's Hierro flared abruptly, causing a boulder the size of her fist to instantly melt and drip to the ground. She instinctively retreated a step, only realizing her mistake when the crowd took a step forward, and the density of the falling stones redoubled.

'Move it,' Grimmjow said, giving her a glance that was amusingly reproachful, and stepping forward. Arms up around their faces, the line of Shinigami followed, closing the distance between themselves and the crowd. The advance did not seem to impress the mass of people, and, in truth, Lilinette thought, taking a step forward in her turn, there was little to be impressed about, given the sheathed weapons and the carefully controlled reiatsu. With their Zanpakutoh still in their scabbards, and their reiatsu masked, the Shinigami looked just like a bunch of regular pluses – and then, in numbers…

Goddamn it, she thought, looking over the group.

They were outnumbered at least twenty to one.

She sensed the energies of the Hollow behind her flaring briefly with each rock that found aim, and took a deep breath, trying to look for any trace of anger or aggression. To her relief she found none, or at least, not yet. The Arrancars' reiatsu seemed to speak mostly of confusion, and the group was far too concerned with maintaining their Hierro against the relentless assault of small, sharp objects to think of retaliation.

_Shit._

The sudden realization that the Shinigami had no Hierro dawned on her just a second too late – she turned around, catching Takeshi's glance, and noticing that he was already bleeding from a large number of superficial scratches. He'd managed to protect his face, but virtually every other inch of exposed skin was criss-crossed by red markings, and, Lilinette imagined, the silk of the kimono could not have been much protection against bruising, even where his skin was not exposed. The others did not seem to fare better; the wound on Matsuo's cheek was bleeding profusely, and although he did not seem in a lot of pain, his eye had begun to swell, threatening to impair his vision. To make matters worse, the closer the line of Shinigami came to the crowd, the more precision and strength the hurled objects gained; thin wisps of smoke had begun to rise somewhere in the distance, threatening that whatever flaming projectiles had been cast at Sereitei's walls would soon replace the rocks and pebbles.

'Not good, not good, not good,' the girl muttered to herself, thinking that at that precise moment she would have given a finger for Stark's Hierro, or at least for Uki's…'Takeshi!'

Her voice had been so shrill that the young man had dropped his guard in amazement, and had to briefly shadow step to the side to dodge a rock that had been aimed at his chest.

'Yes?' he muttered, tellingly rubbing his ear.

'Sorry for yellin'.' She whispered, darting to his side. 'Can ya do that Kido thing…'

The young man blinked twice in incomprehension, forgetting to shield himself altogether – the mistake could have proved serious. The first fiery projectile, something that seemed to consist of straw wrapped in burning cloth flew at them; teal barra light intercepted it before it could make contact, causing it to pulverize instantly and showering them both with ash.

'Duck an' cover, ya guys, don't stand there like practice dummies,' Grimmjow dryly commanded, frowning as he looked over his shoulder.

'The kido thing,' Lilinette insisted, rising on her tiptoes to look over Grimmjow's shoulder. She then briefly turned at Takeshi, scowling as she had hoped the menacing look in her eye would instantly make him remember what she could not.

The Shinigami measured her for half a second longer, but to her relief, expressed doubt of a much different sort. 'Are you authorizing Kido usage?' he asked, sounding overly surprised.

'…the hell,' Lilinette muttered. 'Ya can't use Kido?'

'We are not allowed to, out here. Not without permission.' Takeshi responded, frowning. 'That is also part of the generalized castration program…'

''mmkay,' Lilinette responded, berating herself for not having known about the restriction, but understanding there was little she could do about it _now_. 'Less bitching, more Kido, ha? Go at it…'

Three burning bundles landed simultaneously between the line of Shinigami and the line of Arrancar; far from being simple straw and cloth, as Lilinette had hoped, the bundles burst into high flames as soon as they hit the ground, clearly showing that some sort of accelerant had been tied in the middle.

'Fuck!' Lilinette exclaimed. 'Sonido through,' she yelled, in a high enough voice to cover the roar of the crowd. The line of Arrancar moved as one, closing the gap, but also bundling to the side and shortening the line – the fluid mass of plusses, who was now less than twenty feet away, immediately sensed the opportunity and spilled out, forcing the line of Shinigami to curve inward on its flank.

_Not good, not good, not good!_ Lilinette's mind raced. The last thing she wanted was for the group to be encircled, but it seemed like the pressure of the crowd was forcing just that. On the other hand, she reckoned, the pluses had gotten so close that if the Shinigami were going to use whatever Ukitake had used against her in a long forgotten time, above a fake human city, they'd probably not only stop the hail of rocks and fire, but also brutally push some of the pluses back. Perhaps even hurt them, she thought, cringing and forcing herself to remember that, for however furious and aggressive, the people before them didn't possess a single shred of reiatsu, and would probably get crushed by even the simplest form of Kido.

She exchanged another quick glance with Takeshi, letting him know she understood his hesitation, and not pressing her previous instructions – the young man looked torn, and cursed under his breath as another rock hit his shoulder.

'The longer you wait, the closer they come,' she said, and though Takeshi's gaze had grown somewhat distant, he nodded.

'Yes,' he responded, with an instinctive brief bow. 'Bakudo 8,' he commanded, in a voice that betrayed none of the doubt which filled his eyes, and seemed to cancel out doubt in all others. The Shinigami line immediately dropped their guard and assumed position. 'On my mark.'

At the increasingly curved end of the line, the pluses were almost at an arm's length; Matsuo, who'd been on that end, looked over his shoulder towards Takeshi with something that resembled grim determination, then stretched his hand out, preparing to cast. He was the last to do so.

_I'm real sorry, dude_, Lilinette thought.

Five or six makeshift spears splintered against the barely risen barrier in the first split second, and the closest of the pluses were blown off their feet, ripping through the mass of their companions. Taking advantage of the brief confusion, Matsuo motioned for the Shinigami around him to press forward, straightening the line at the cost of pushing the energy shields straight into the crowd. Some pained screams rose, only to be covered by an increased uproar of outrage – direct line of sight to the crowd was almost completely obscured by the rain of rock, wood and fire that was pouring in from all directions.

'What the hell is with these people?' Grimmjow yelled.

'Cover upwards,' Takeshi ordered, looking slightly more at ease, but worriedly glancing down the line at Matsuo, who was seemingly hard pressed in maintaining the barrier as wave upon wave of people pushed back against it.

'Ok,' Lilinette breathed, coming up from the middle of the group of Arrancar, and hastily looking around herself. 'Is everyone alright?'

She immediately knew that they were not – most of the Shinigami were bleeding, and Matsuo's left eye was completely closed. There were no serious injuries though…She briefly wondered whether the same was true for the opposite side of the barrier, and swallowed dry.

'We need to push these guys back if we want to have any chance of talking to them,' she began.

'Fuck that,' Grimmjow spat to the side. 'I'm about ready to rip faces! One Cero, and they'll be turnin' tail…'

The group of Arrancar muttered in impatient agreement, and Lilinette watched Takeshi bitterly lowering his gaze. Oddly enough, the Sexta had been watching out for the same thing.

'Dude,' he said, approaching the young Shinigami. 'I don't know what's gotten into those guys, but the more we stand here getting rocks thrown at us, the more pissed they will get. Not to mention, the more pissed I will get…'

'I understand,' Takeshi said, not lifting his glance.

'An' it's not only that they'll get more pissed,' Lilinette intervened. 'It's that there's more an' more of them by the second. If we don't get them to go home, Gin's gonna say – screw you, and send in the fucking cavalry. The same cavalry that was out in North Rukongai, an' the same cavalry that's slowly munching at the 6th and 8th. Ya really don't want that to happen…'

Takeshi did not get the luxury of time for thought. A lonely rock, that miraculously dropped in over the top of the Kido barrier, landed squarely top of Grimmjow's head, in an equally miraculous manner.

'Ok, that does it,' the Sexta dryly concluded, spinning on his heels – but for Lilinette's extraordinary speed, he might have vanished to Sonido in the very next moment. She pushed him back, crossing his arms over his chest and letting her Hierro flare out at full strength. It still would have not been enough to stop him, she realized. Grimmjow dragged her back for almost three feet before he slowed down, of his own free will.

'Alternative solution,' he snarled, still pushing forth.

And now, Lilinette realized, was truly a time to think fast.

'Pesquisa,' she cried, keeping her eye closed and employing all of her strength to keep Grimmjow in place. The Sexta straightened so fast that Lilinette almost fell forward. He cast a glance over his shoulder at Takeshi, then slowly lowered his gaze to her. 'Listening.' Grimmjow said. 'For about three seconds.'

'If we do a real good Pesquisa push, there ain't no way we can't repel 'em. It's still a reiatsu wave, we should knock a bunch of plusses with no energies on their asses,' Lilinette breathlessly uttered. 'Just you an' me would be enough I think; if we all do it together, then we will daze them enough to get a word in for sure.'

Grimmjow earnestly paused, then looked over his shoulder once more, giving Lilinette the odd impression that it was not the fact that the idea had merit that had made him consider it, but the fact that Takeshi had still not lifted his gaze off the ground.

'Fine,' he said, shrugging. 'Come up, you bunch o'…Barragan…things,' he muttered, waving his hand in the air, in the most awesomely wrong way of calling the other Arrancar close. They still came – mostly, Lilinette thought, out of curiosity.

'Don't hurt them,' Takeshi whispered to her.

'We shouldn't be hurting them,' she whispered back, briefly leaning her hand on his arm. 'Pesquisa's just a reiatsu sensing technique – ya send a wave out, it bounces off shit and it comes back in, tellin' ya how much reiatsu shit's got. If they got nothing, it should be just knocking them down. 'Kay?'

He hesitated.

''s Ok,' Lilinette whispered. The young Shinigami forced himself to nod.

'We're not gonna hurt them,' she confidently repeated, squeezing his arm before darting away. 'On my mark,' she shrilled; Grimmjow cast her a glance that said that under any other circumstance, he would have pissed himself laughing, and in the end, Lilinette admitted to herself, the command had been so out of tune with what she normally was like, that under different circumstances, she might have pissed herself laughing too.

_That's just not me._

_Is it?_

She closed her eye.

'Now,' she said; the concentrated wave of energy of ten Arrancar and two Espada washed across the quarter, pushing all that was not nailed down towards the distant horizon – shattered glass from nearby windows, but also pebbles, makeshift spears and reserves of rocks were swept away, and sent hurtling along the nearby streets. Just as Lilinette had hoped, the pluses lost their footing, and even dragged back for some twenty feet, the entire crowd suddenly leaning like a wheat field under a sudden gust of wind. Still, all damage to them was incidental, and mostly done by the other pieces of flying debris – some of them, Lilinette noted, as she opened her eye, had had to let go of their pitchforks and knives, and dug their fingers into the ground in their struggle not to be dragged even further away.

The roaring sound stopped for a moment, receding to cut off breaths and soft murmurs, in sign that confusion had finally switched sides.

It was a moment not to be missed.

'Drop the shields,' Takeshi ordered; Lilinette looked over her shoulder and nodded, unconsciously.

He slipped his zanpakutoh from his sash, and blindly stretched it to the side, offering it to his nearest companion, then came forward, keeping eye contact with Lilinette as if seeking her permission – the girl nodded once more. Whatever this was, she reckoned, the situation would not be helped if she did all of the talking; she fell in step behind the Shinigami, following him out and obviously further away from the main group than Grimmjow thought intelligent. The Sexta still grinned wide, making her sigh inwardly; if anything, she thought, if this attempt went sour, at least Grimm would feel like the day had not been a total waste.

'D'ya have any clue what to say?' she asked Takeshi, as an afterthought.

'No idea,' the Shinigami answered, without looking over his shoulder. 'Just tell them to go home, I think.'

Lilinette nodded, not expecting that he would continue.

'Hardly the place to enter a negotiation,' Takeshi followed, with an unpleasant, rebellious undertone. 'I can hardly offer any solutions, when I do not even understand what the basic issue is.'

'They just need to go home,' she whispered. It was his turn to nod, but she thought she'd seen him biting his lower lip.

Takeshi's brave advance seemingly paid off. As the crowd struggled to their feet, they did not miss the significance of the fact that he'd come out unarmed and without any visible form of protection. The aggression in the air wavered, ever so slightly, and open fury was briefly replaced by mere suspicion.

'Disperse,' was all Takeshi had to say for the fury to return, rising like a tidal wave. The people jumped, rather than climbed to their feet, all hands clenched on their makeshift weapons – the animosity was so strong it almost tasted like reiatsu, and judging by the brief look of tension on Takeshi's features, it had the same devastating effect on his heart as the Pesquisa had had on the crowd, but a minute before.

'Disperse,' he repeated, clenching his teeth, and talking a step further. 'Else,' he continued, 'steps will have to be taken…'

'Now they come out!' someone in the crowd cried.

_Bastards…Cowards…_

The insults seemed to flow from everywhere and nowhere, just as the rocks and pebbles had.

'What's the matter, Shinigami, you only hear us when we rattle your walls?'

'_Not_ good,' Lilinette whispered; Takeshi looked over his shoulder, giving her a pained, pleading glance, then willed himself another step forward.

He was trapped, she thought, and he knew it – behind them, Grimmjow's patience was wearing thin, and despite the many gathered souls, the air had begun to buzz with his energy alone. Even with the little he knew about the Sexta, and although he probably suspected Grimmjow would not lash out for the purpose of causing harm, but from the selfish need to escape from a situation which promised no _face ripping _satisfaction, Takeshi probably knew that Grimm would explode before long.

'Where were you until now, Shinigami?'

_Trapped inside the walls, just like y'all are trapped outside them,_ Lilinette thought Takeshi should have said. He did not – he simply held steady, bearing the weight of a truth he could not share. His voice did not even tremble.

'You must withdraw,' Takeshi said. 'Sereitei will not tolerate vandalism and disorder.'

A rock landed by Lilinette's foot, bouncing dryly off the pavement before rolling into the distance.

One Cero, Lilinette thought, beginning to earnestly consider the option, and trying to guess the damage that one single Gran Rey Cero, tearing through the solid mass of plusses before her could have done. On the one hand, she thought, it would certainly have scattered whomever was left alive, if, indeed, Grimm's Gran Rey Cero would leave anyone alive in such close quarters. On the other, the crowd's fury would only temporarily be repressed – perhaps the terror that would spread in the wake of such an outburst would last, but perhaps it would not. Though the small group of Shinigami and Arrancar still controlled their reiatsu, the plusses must have known how hopelessly underpowered they were; they pressed nonetheless, in sign that their anger truly cancelled out their fear.

_And more fear's not going to do anyone any good. We'll just be back here in two weeks' time._

'Please,' Takeshi said. 'Go home. This can do little good.'

Something in his voice gave the crowd pause; the insults stopped echoing through the air.

'We are trying to help,' Takeshi said; Lilinette wondered whether his voice had even carried over the first two rows of the crowd.

'Who?' someone questioned, for the first time, not in full blown anger. 'Who are you trying to help?'

Lilinette took a step to the side. In truth, it was no more than shifting her weight, and she did not think she was getting away from Takeshi's shadow. She did not think much of it – perhaps, she realized a second later, because the front of the group of people was so wide, that some of them must have had line of sight to her anyway. It was, nonetheless, silly. A rock flew at her from the side; she saw it, but did not move, knowing that her Hierro would take care of it before it even came close.

It was Takeshi's turn to do something amazingly silly next.

He stepped in front of her and took the hit.

Whether he'd truly done it to protect her, of simply out of reflex, she could not know, but from the very second when she heard him wince, and looked to him in amazement, she understood that the gesture had been a terrible mistake.

'That is who,' the crowd roared, finding its own answers. 'That is who you help, Shinigami – that is who you serve!'

'Dogs!'

The word fell along with a renewed wave of pebbles – neither Takeshi nor Lilinette gestured to protect themselves.

_Did you even notice your masters changed?_

_Or do you serve these as blindly as you served the others? _

_What about us? Do you think you can build walls high enough to hide you?_

_What about us?_

Lilinette met Takeshi's glance through the hail of pebbles; a thin cut ran across his cheek, but he still did not lift his arm to protect himself.

_Fuck this._

'People!' she yelled, stepping up in front of the Shinigami for the first time, and sensing that Grimmjow was approaching from behind, the electrical buzzing of his energy advancing through the heat front that her step forth had pushed outwards – the crowd recoiled, neither in fear, nor in surprise, but in physical shock. 'Aren't you _fucking_ thinking?'

'Do you have any idea what can happen, here?' she asked; she thought she'd heard Takeshi whisper a plea as Grimm passed by him, coming to stand by her side, hand on Pantera's hilt. Wisps of cutting wind began to gather solidly about them, stopping all hurled objects in mid air before they could even come within feet of their targets. 'Do you have any clue what we can do to ya?'

Bad choice of words, Lilinette thought. By the fact that the pointless attack did not cease, she could well guess that _she_ had no idea of what they had already done. She pressed, anyway, odd clarity traversing her thoughts.

Ironically, at that very moment, she thought she finally grasped what Stark meant by _purely intellectual exercise._

'_Cuz you were like that,_ Lilinette thought, imagining his arms around her. _You always knew when to let go of how you feel to do what you must…_

That moment, she felt, was soon coming for her. And though she feared it in her heart, she understood how necessary it would be in her mind. The moment when she would have to let go, of hope and trust and expectation, the moment when she simply would think she needed to defend.

It was near.

'D'ya think we're not letting loose at ya cuz we care what happens to y'all?'

As if to reinforce her words, Grimmjow snickered ominously at her side.

'Fucking deluded,' he spat – and though he had almost whispered, his reiatsu carried the words through the air, causing the group of plusses to ripple as if they had been faced with a chilling gust of wind.

'The reason why we're not letting loose at ya is because _he,_' she continued, wildly waving her arm to point at Takeshi, 'is trying to get the job done without y'all getting hurt…'

'It's all about the orders, no matter who gives them, not about us!'

'Well he doesn't know whatever happened to you lot to make you act like a bunch of crazed cattle, now does he!' Lilinette exploded, not caring for the fact that she's yet again advanced from Grimmjow's side, and that the crowd was menacingly closing in on her. 'He can't help you with that!'

'So maybe the wall has to come down!' a voice called. 'Maybe the wall has to come down so that the Shinigami see what's happening to us…'

_That's sort of a good point,_ Lilinette inwardly conceded – she frowned menacingly, trying to keep all trace of doubt from emerging on her features.

'He's helping ya the only way he knows how,' she reiterated. 'You gotta go home, people, you gotta go before this gets worse.'

All wasted breath.

As one, the plusses stepped forward – and Lilinette knew beyond doubt that whatever was happening to them was already the worse they could think of.

_Fucking hell._

Pantera slipped an inch out of her scabbard, and Takeshi looked away.

'Hold,' a voice echoed. 'Hold.'

The man had not shouted, he'd merely spoken out loud. There was something familiar in his voice – the eerie, commanding weight of it, the calm and the confidence…Despite the fact that there had been no magic behind it, the command had fallen over the crowd like a blanket, soothing and oppressing at the same time; the hail of rocks slowed, then stopped.

Several people made their way through the group, coming up front from all directions, and giving the impression that the single word had held such weight because it spread through the crowd along some unseen webbing, which was now coming to the surface. Ten – no, twenty plusses, Lilinette counted made their way to the front, forming a loose circle which stretched between the larger group and the young Arrancar.

_Damn_, she thought, only then noticing that when she'd spoken the last phrase, she'd been surrounded from all sides. _When'd they come so close?_

The circle stretched out into a line, not pushing but gently coaxing the people back with hushed whispers.

'She's right,' the one amid the group who had not joined the line said. He dropped a piece of cloth, which looked like a butcher's apron, to his feet and stepped up to her, meeting cold, electric pink with oddly cold and determined russet eyes. 'This can only get worse.'

His glance warned her from speaking, but she wouldn't have anyway. The surprise was too great.

_I know these eyes…_Lilinette thought. _I know this voice._

The dark haired man turned towards the crowd.

'We need to disperse,' he decisively said – the mass was taken aback.

'Why?' some cried.

_Shh,_ the wind murmured. _Listen to Enishi…_

'The purpose of all this must not be doing further harm to ourselves,' the man said. 'The purpose of this is to make them listen.'

_But they aren't._

_They never are – never were. Now it is worse than ever…_

_The Shinigami never listen._

'That is because we don't let them,' Lilinette suddenly said.

The man they'd called Enishi snappily looked over his shoulder, half to keep her quiet, but half, she hoped, to assess if she was honest, and whether she was risking stirring the fury of the crowd because she was brave, or because she was foolish. Somehow, he guessed it was the former – by simply half turning to face her, he extended the strange aura of credibility that neither reiatsu nor the Shinigami uniforms had provided, but which he seemed to possess in abundance.

'The New Central does not allow Shinigami to move around,' Lilinette said. 'They can't…'

_It doesn't even let us move around too much_, she thought.

'Sereitei was never adept at listening, Hollow,' Enishi coldly said, his single voice channeling the fury of the crowd, and keeping them silent. 'This wall was in place long before your sort came around - _you_ are just the newest implement…'

'I'm listening, tho'' the girl said – the words, which had come unbidden, drew a round of threatening laughter from the group. She frowned and clenched her teeth, sustaining Enishi's glance. 'I am listening,' she said, to him alone.

His russet eyes, eyes she knew well, narrowed.

'For weeks,' he said, his tone clearly showing that he was fighting inner disgust and utter lack of confidence, but that he was forcing himself to honour her offer, 'minor Hollow have been creeping into the remote districts of Rukongai. The…'

'Not only there,' the crowd roared – he silenced them with a quick wave of his arm.

'The pluses who dwelled there,' he followed, his voice growing angry, 'people who have always in _some_ way, and for good reasons, existed on the edges of Soul Society – thieves, murderers and criminals of all sorts have fled their path, and brought their ways to us.'

'Just like you,' Enishi said, 'they carry weapons, while we don't. They're used to bloodshed, while we're not – our streets are overrun with danger, even our homes are unsafe…'

'They took Okawa's children from her house,' a voice cried in the distance. 'They killed her little one when she could not pay back…'

Enishi looked aside, biting his lower lip.

'…the Hollow creep closer, every day, closer…' another voice murmured.

Lilinette sensed Takeshi's energy stir, and spoke what he could not.

'They didn't know,' she said softly. 'We didn't know…'

'And even if you did, you would not care! Hollow!'

'She said she's listening,' Enishi spoke, in bitter irony, then questioningly looked to her. 'Are you?'

_And even if by some mockery of creation, you were listening, what will you do?_ His eyes queried.

'We cannot help you with all that _now_,' Lilinette said, her admission met with more roaring, threatening laughter. Enishi arched an eyebrow.

'But maybe we could help,' Takeshi breathed from behind, his plea addressed to Lilinette and Enishi in equal manner – oddly enough, his offer was met with the same cold disbelief. 'Maybe we could help,' he repeated, stepping up to Lilinette's side. 'But this needs to stop. If you continue to attack the walls…'

'The people are attacking the walls because they have no recourse, Shinigami,' Enishi snapped, once more channeling the mass' fury. 'Yet,' he continued, turning towards the group and using their very momentum to placate them, 'the Hollow and the Shinigami are right. If _we_ follow this path, only more harm to us will follow. These say that they will help,' Enishi laughed, 'and I do not believe them more than you do – but where these came from,' he followed, gesturing towards Shinigami and Arrancar alike, 'more will. More things that carry weapons and that are used to bloodshed will come. We all know how alone and abandoned we stand, but whatever they do does not mean we should abandon each other. If we stand against them now, here, like this, we'll teach them no more than we can be drowned and silenced in our own blood. Is this what we want?' he kindly asked the silent group before him. 'Go home,' Enishi said, his whisper louder than any shouted order. 'This is not the way. Go home.'

There was a moment of silence, as the two groups and their different kinds of helplessness balanced on the words of one man. Then, slowly, line of plusses that had separated Enishi and the Shinigami from the crowd slowly advanced between the others, a trickle of water running through a thin layer of dust. The droplets spread and scattered, turning to streams; one person turned around, and then another… people began to walk away, following each other and tiredly dragging their makeshift weapons along with them, towards yet another unknown fate.

Instead of feeling relief, Lilinette felt a bitter knot rise to her throat.

'I can't promise you nothing,' she said, to Enishi's turned back.

He stopped, and looked over his shoulder – he had not expected that she'd speak to him, but, to her surprise, he swiftly did away with the resolve and fury that had reigned in his eyes, and offered her a falsely unthreatening smile, pale mirror to another tired smile she knew.

'No, ma'am,' he said, in a different voice than the one he'd used just a few minutes earlier. 'I didn't think you would.'

He did not have the courtesy of awaiting a response. He simply melded into the crowd, and vanished amid the thinning rows as if he'd been no more than a shadow.

Perhaps, Lilinette thought, he hoped he was one. Oh well, she thought, turning around and watching her bruised Shinigami cluster together.

_Tough luck._

'Ya got the scent there, kiddo?' Grimmjow asked, from behind – she hesitated before nodding and drawing near to him; as if the brief exchange had suddenly jolted him to reality, Takeshi regained his Zanpakutoh and rushed to their side.

'What…' he breathed. 'Do you intend to…He helped us!' the Shinigami hotly protested. 'He's simply someone with local authority, there is no need to track him, or…or…flag him to the Secret Mobile Core, he... If he hadn't spoken up…'

Lilinette glanced reproachfully to the young Shinigami, and though he struggled to sustain her glance, he blushed, while his companions looked away.

'Takeshi, dude,' Grimmjow interrupted, gazing into the thinning crowd with narrowed eyes, then shifting his glance to the Shinigami, 'the day when you outsmart me is gonna come right after the day you can beat me, which is likely gonna fall on the Wednesday after Hell freezes over. Hush. You're only makin' it worse…' he briskly concluded, when Takeshi opened his mouth to protest further.

The Shinigami swallowed his words, and pointed his glance down, with bitterness that was general amid his group.

'That guy is not a random guy. That guy got a _crew,'_ Grimmjow followed, beginning to stride towards the wall, and giving the now almost empty crossing another quick look. 'And they ain't met yesterday. D'ya see those guys move?'

'Yeh,' Lilinette nodded.

'An' it's a Shinigami crew to boot,' the Sexta added, making her frown.

'How the fuck d'ya know that?' she muttered. 'The guys up front were all just simple plusses.'

'Pesquisa,' he dryly reminded. 'Ya just pushed, and then got all wet. I also watched what came back; there was more than one Shinigami with their light on in that crowd. True, not in the front. Yeh, yeh,' he grinned, when Lilinette smirked in disbelief. 'I keep tellin' ya Ulquiorra ain't got nothin' on me, but ya doubt an' doubt an' doubt.'

The Sexta lifted his chin, and sniffed at the air with closed eyes. Contrary to what she'd expected, for Grimmjow really hated having his confrontations finish before he'd even managed to draw, the Sexta looked somewhat pleased, and the tips of his ears were twitching in anticipation.

'Step away, Takeshi,' he ordered. 'Me an' Lili gonna talk dirty.'

'Sir…Grimm…'

'Dude!' the Sexta snapped, opening his eyes, and giving Takeshi one of his most murderous stares. 'Get the guys back together and start for the gate. Get!'

The Shinigami bowed briefly, his lips stretched into a bitter line, and slowly obeyed. It felt almost as if he'd peeled himself from the two Arrancar, and he walked away as slowly as he possibly could. He even faked a limp, Lilinette thought, with a little snicker.

Grimmjow waited until Takeshi was definitely out of earshot.

'This has got to get handled,' he said, at long length.

'I think the troubles of these folk oughta concern us – I told that guy that I wanna help, and I wanna, my word...'Lilinette babbled, all in one.

'That too,' Grimmjow said briskly, not disappointing. 'I'll back ya – by this point, I don't care whose face I rip, as long as I rip some faces,' he shrugged, and she poked her tongue out. 'If we can legitimately go out an' have some sort of action, I'm totally down with it. But that guy's got to be handled. By the way those people moved, he's got a fucking army out there. So,' he said, once more closing his eyes, and taking a deep breath. 'How do we handle? I handle? You handle? Ulquiorra handle?'

'Fuck Ulquiorra,' Lilinette spat.

'That a girl,' Grimmjow grinned, revealing the source of his satisfaction.

'I handle,' Lilinette decisively said.

He arched an eyebrow at her unexplained rush.

'Ya sure?'

Lilinette nodded somewhat too decisively, looking over the empty crossing.

'Yeh,' she answered. 'I'm sure.'

'Ya got some reason why...' Grimmjow suspiciously began; Lilinette frowned menacingly, inwardly thinking that sometimes, she could have handled Grimm being a bit less of a smart guy.

'If I handle it, then that fucking means _you_ don't fucking wanna know about it, OK?' she mumbled.

'Fine, fine, you don't have to get territorial,' he laughed. For a second, his smile receded, and he clenched his teeth, causing his Hollow jaw to glue itself to his cheek. 'I'm gonna start on the other fight. File in reports and shit...'

Lilinette snickered.

'Anything to piss off Ulquiorra, eh?'

'Watch yourself,' Grimmjow said, without smiling.

'Thanks, _dad,'_ Lilinette muttered.

That did not make him smile either.

* * *

Hm...

Abstract here...I must say, after hardly making it through US customs (I art dangerous, me!) it is very flattering to be positively compared to various blood sucking insects. (If he knew what was good for him, IVI would be running and hiding now...He, however, seems not to be aware of the danger...*cracks knuckles*)

In any event - apologies for not picking up comments; I shall do so tonight/tomorrow :) Thanks all for leaving us a note :)

Up next - That Enishi guy was rather suspicious...


	31. Meeting

Hey, hey, IVI here and we be back. It's been a rather crazy week with crossing the United States, meeting weird people, acting weird ourselves and being amused and killing off a small town's worth of zombies in Left4Dead. Abstract was the only one to safely get on the boat, btw. Bill, Francis and IVI the whitest black guy ever were sadly lost to the rampaging hoard. Don't worry though, I died valantly and without regrets...ahem...yea...

This week, Lilinette makes another new friend and, as usual, is almost killed for it.

* * *

'Ukitake.'

He jolted, then froze.

'Yes, ma'am,' Enishi shrugged, turning around slowly. 'I know the name. Captain – well, former Captain of the 13th Division.'

Lilinette walked inside the small, windowless room, and slowly closed the door behind her, stealing a glance up and down the street as she did so. She'd come alone, he thought, and she had some concerns on whether the house was guarded. Unfortunately, he knew it was not.

'Aha,' she said, in a neutral tone.

The girl did not advance towards him. Instead, she leaned her shoulders on the door, keeping her arms behind her back and crossing her ankles, maintaining a pose that, given her outfit, was utterly shameless but still managed to look as if it had been the most natural pose in the world.

'Not very nice to do something like ya did then run away like that,' the Hollow noted, looking towards the wooden ceiling. 'Least ya can do is hang about for long enough to get thanks.'

'I did not think you had much to thank me for,' he answered, fully turning around to face her, and wringing his hands in only half false agitation. 'If you don't mind – how did you find me? Not that I'm not grateful for the visit from a high-up such as yourself, of course,' he nervously chuckled, wondering if she sensed the irony in his voice, 'I mean, acting captain of the 3rd…Heck, the closest thing to an authority that's ever been through this shop is the local tax collector, and that's never fun. Still, if I'd known there would be an inspection, I might have cleaned up. Who knows, perhaps the New Central will start looking into business licenses too, one of these days.'

The girl took her time in looking about the small and pretty orderly back room, and though he searched for signs of suspicion in her glance or in her posture, she merely seemed amused and curious.

'Dropped ya apron,' she said at length, stretching her arm out, and offering the rough and bloodied piece of cloth for inspection.

'And that's how you found me?' he inquired, not coming forth.

'No, that's just a pretext,' the Hollow honestly answered. She pointed at her nose. 'Would have found ya anyhow, Enishi, was it? Even if you don't got reiatsu, ya still got a scent.'

_I'll have to remember that_, the man thought.

'Do ya make a habit out of crawling out of the woodwork, saving the day, and then crawling back in the woodwork?' Lilinette asked.

'It looks like the crawling back part still needs some work,' he shrugged.

'Yup,' she nodded. 'Anyway,' Lilinette said. 'Came to say thanks.'

He almost forgot himself and frowned. There was disconcerting honesty about this creature, the man thought. He'd oddly sensed it in the square, and he was sensing it now; not that it mattered, he told himself, looking at the closed door that the Hollow was leaning against, and wondering if she realized how much of a favour she was doing him by keeping it closed.

It was, after all, her who would not be leaving the room.

'People seem to respect ya a lot,' Lilinette casually noted. 'You have some authority about you without trying too much. That Ukitake of the 13th has that too.'

He laughed, hoping he did not sound too nervous – 'That's mighty kind of you, ma'am, but…I just did what I thought was right, back there. Could've worked, could've not worked – if it hadn't, I'd probably have a lot of trouble getting a customer. Naught but good business sense,' he added, feeling convinced that she was not buying his front, but that she was amusing herself in watching him try. 'Not that business has been easy, these past weeks.'

'One would imagine,' the Hollow shrugged. She stood away from the door with fluid, fascinating and natural grace, which told him that for however small she was, she must have been fast and that he'd have to be faster. 'I meant what I said, by the way,' Lilinette added, measuring him through the corner of her eye. 'We really have no clue what's going on out here.'

'Now you do,' he responded, for the first time in earnest, and without trying to disguise his voice.

She nodded.

'I'm Lilinette,' the girl said, offering her hand – he did not take it, but cautiously stepped back out of instinct. He half berated himself for the gesture but quickly reconsidered; by now, she must have realized how false his casual manner was, and whatever her suspicions were, even if she still did not truly appear suspicious, she should have expected that not even the most foolish plus would make contact with a Hollow, regardless of circumstance.

The girl let her arm fall, looking childishly disappointed.

'I'm Lilinette,' she repeated. 'An' when I give my word, I keep my word.'

He oddly believed her.

'Just wanted ya to know that,' the Hollow shrugged. 'Seems fair. An', in the interest of fairness…'

She suddenly switched tone.

'Are you surrrrre you're not related to Ukitake Jushiro?' Lilinette slyly inquired, rocking back and forth playfully on her heels as she inquisitively stared up at the dark haired man. He grinned back at her with indulgence.

'Positive, ma'am,' he answered in a wry tone, 'As interesting and useful as might be to be of the same blood as a famous Shinigami - I mean, who wouldn't want to be able to shoot fire balls from their bare hands; sure would've been useful a couple minutes ago... - I'm afraid I'm about as plain as boiled cod.'

Lilinette's face scrunched up in obvious distaste, and she meaningfully stared at him for a minute longer; he simply kept smiling.

'Eh, fireballs aren't that cool. Not as cool as lightning, anyway.' She off-handedly said.

The young woman let out a protracted sigh before spinning around and moving towards the door. 'Ok, then. Thanks again for all the help,' she yelled without bothering to look over her shoulder, and giving a lazy wave to the side. Now, he thought, was as good a time as any.

She'd barely reached for the doorknob when the world suddenly inverted itself and she was slammed down in a breathless heap upon the floor. There was quiet metallic hiss from somewhere at her side before a quickly blossoming chill stole through her breast.

'My apologies,' said the man who had called himself Enishi, the neighborhood butcher. The thick strong hands that had wrung themselves in agitation when conversing with her, confidently twisted the hilt of the oversized knife he'd pulled from his belt and just driven through her chest. Russet eyes so similar to another's allowed themselves to be caught and held by her electric pink gaze. He owed this disconcertingly honest creature much at least.

She looked to him in shock for a mere moment – there was no fear in her eye, simply surprise, and, as he once more twisted the knife, he was briefly glad that she would not die frightened. A stupid grin stole over her face.

There was a flash of blinding light and the man called Enishi was blasted back across the room and into the wall behind, before he fell into a crumbled heap. The speed of the blow and the force of the impact had knocked the breath out of him, and he took what he felt was a century to painstakingly hoist himself up and lean on his arm. Blearily, in the time between one pained breath and another, he looked up to see Lilinette stand over him, grinning smugly, his dagger twirling merrily in her dainty fingers.

'Better to ask forgiveness then permission, huh?' the blonde Arrancar laughed. 'S'okay, I get how it goes.'

'H-how..?' he stuttered, struggling to get up, but understanding that his desperate rush did not matter. He'd driven the knife completely through her chest, he dazedly told himself – straight through, and even through the wooden boards of the floor; she should have been pinned down and bleeding. She should have been dead.

The stab wound closed before his eyes.

'...did I survive? Dude, sorry to break it to ya', but you ain't killing a Vasto Lorde with that reiatsu-less butter knife of yours, no matter how you stick 'em,' she replied cheerfully, flashing him the victory sign. She then paused, and scratched her chin in thought. 'Though I gotta admit, that was a pretty slick move, since you actually got me off my feet, without Sonido or anything. I'm sure it could've taken out most Adjuchas or a even vice captain...Anyway!' the girl concluded. 'Now that you've dropped the act…which Ukitake are you?'

He clenched his teeth and stood - his mask never wavered, and, in the abruptly overturned world in which he suddenly found himself, he simply felt glad that he would not die frightened either.

Lilinette rolled her eye and tossed him the dagger, which he deftly caught; she ignored his frown.

'Ok, fine, I'll just start guessing. There was five of you boys 'sides 'Shiro,' she said, gathering a pose of deep and exaggerated thought, and ignoring the surprise that briefly flashed over his face at hearing his brother's the nickname. 'Let me see, are you...'

'Hayoto.' He surrendered, without thinking.

Lilinette blinked in surprise.

'Well, that takes the fun out of guessing.' She said, arching an eyebrow. 'The little one, then.'

The man held his breath; she somehow read it as a sign of contradiction, and frowned menacingly.

'Sure you are,' she nodded, with great determination. 'You hate tempura vegetables, you're allergic to apples, you always got your sisters to make up your room, an' when anybody tells ya to do something, ya do the exact opposite just because. You managed to bring down a whole cherry tree when you were ten and you fell out of it, breaking your left arm, then fell through a third story window when you were fourteen and Uki thought you were gonna die.'

'Only ya didn't,' Lilinette shrugged. 'Ya grew up, and lived to have the great honour of making my acquaintance and stabbing me in the same minute. Not nice,' she berated. 'Pretty sure Shiro taught you better manners.'

'How do you know all this?' he fired, still standing straight as if he'd been facing an execution. Her glance mellowed.

'I got to live in your big bro's house for a while.,' she replied smugly. 'I did some snooping. His books are dedicated to you all. Sorry for getting into those... Me an' your bro'…we got some history, too.'

'Come to think of it, maybe I was wrong on the manners,' she added, drifting away to her own thoughts, 'I think stabbing me three minutes after meeting me is like a family trait of some sort…'

Lilinette grinned, quickly chasing the shadow of sorrow that had passed over her features, and casually took a seat on the floor a few in front of him, gesturing for him to do likewise. When Hayoto made no move to do so, she narrowed her eye in annoyance and decisively pointed down to the ground where she wanted him. The two continued to look at one another, one in an exaggerated glare, the other with a blank stare, until Hayoto finally broke and settled himself before her into a stiffly correct seiza posture. He sighed in surrender.

'I should hope that you are putting Onii-san through similar abuse?'

_I do hope he is still alive – last news of him I've had were months ago…_

Lilinette giggled, her cocky grin growing a hair larger. 'Nah, Uki-erm, sorry you're Uki , too, uh...most of the time Shiro knows who's boss and jumps when I tell him to.'

'Only most of the time?' Hayoto asked with a slight suggestion in his voice. Lilinette snorted in a decidedly unladylike way.

'Yeh. The rest of time he either says 'we already finished this' and stops listening like some little kid that I want to kick in the head,' she rapidly uttered.

The uncomfortable staring match returned again before Lilinette sighed in her turn and pinched the bridge of her nose.

'…or he convinces me that what he wants is what I want, and I only find out that what I wanted was actually what he wanted until after I got what I what I hadn't thought I wanted. The sneaky bastard.' She muttered in mock annoyance, tacking on the last part almost as an afterthought.

Hayoto found himself nodding in sincere commiseration. Yes, he thought, Jushiro had a gift for that.

He looked down at the bloodied blade of the knife in his hand, feeling eerily relaxed. He'd known he ran the chance of being recognized when he'd stepped up in front of the crowd, but he didn't regret his actions in the least. The only thing he'd let himself fear was that the other members of his group would be equally pursued, yet, he thought, the news of his arrest would make then go into hiding soon enough.

_At least it is this little, honest critter,_ Hayoto thought, forgetting that the _little_ one had just survived a stab through the chest and hurled him across the room as if he'd been a sack of potatoes.

'How did you recognize me?' he asked, out of curiosity.

He'd never thought himself too similar to his brother – Jushiro had inherited his mother's strange white hair, and had always had a lighter build than any of his siblings. In fact, Hayoto remembered, he'd grown taller than Jushiro when he was just 16; he hadn't grown much after that, but he'd always had a stronger frame overall.

'You have the same eyes,' Lilinette said. 'But mostly,' she grinned, 'it's in the manner and in the voice – I recognized those the moment you spoke up.'

'Doomed from the first second.' he dryly noted.

And precisely by the resemblance he'd always resented. He remembered that, growing up, there had been no shortage of times when he'd thought he hated Jushiro's calm voice, and the fact that all manners of disasters left him untouched. The fact that he always knew how to handle himself, the fact that he carried authority without meaning to…The fact that he never seemed to be angry or confused, the utter control that he exerted on himself and on his surroundings. Back then, he'd thought Jushiro was like that because he either didn't think or didn't feel. But then, Hayoto reckoned, _he_ had thought and felt when he'd stepped up today; he'd been so wracked with emotions and thoughts that the fact that his voice had carried had felt almost like an accident, and, without knowing, he'd mastered himself in the exact same way that Jushiro always had.

Maybe, growing up, he hadn't resented Jushiro because he was different. Maybe he'd resented him because he sensed himself too similar; in the end, Hayoto thought, maybe he'd resented the notion that he was nothing but a replica. And clearly, he was sufficiently faithful one to be picked out from a crowd of hundreds.

'D'ya all get it from your dad?'

He frowned, taking a minute to return to the Arrancar before him and understand her question. There was still nothing but honest curiosity in her rounded, wide eye.

'I would not know,' Hayoto answered. 'Our parents were consumed by Hollow while I was still hardly an infant.'

Hayoto didn't know what he'd intended to strike with the phrase, or whether he'd intended anything at all – Lilinette looked away, swallowing dry.

'He never said…' she whispered, after a deep breath. 'Wow.'

He glanced at her inquiringly, leaning forward ever so slightly, watching as her deceivingly small fingers shakily ran through her hair, brushing it off her check, then descended to her lap to be curled into clenched fists. Just as suddenly, her fists relaxed and she blew out a sigh in exaggerated irritation.

'Ok,' she mumbled to herself, her absurdly pink eye pointed at the floor, but looking inwards at some deep thought that held her transfixed. 'Good reason why we won't make friends here. Pointless to insist. Ok.'

He intuited the conversation had come to an end.

She must have thought the same. Lilinette blinked and looked back up at him, her manner losing all childish pretence as she gracefully raised herself up from the floor in one smooth motion. Hayoto did not bother to stand himself. Instead, he kept himself seated, the knife still in his hands, this time ready to be turned on himself. The chances were good that she could intercept him before he was able to deliver lethal blow, but he would not be captured without making one final attempt at escape, even if that escape was death.

The two eyed one another as two duelists would, each watching the other for the slightest cue. It was again Lilinette who broke the impasse. 'Well, it's been cool and all, but I gotta get going.'

He shook his head in incomprehension.

'This place kinda smells like you and if I stay around longer it will definitely smell like me; if the Secret Mobile Corps gets wind of what really happened today, here's the first place they'll come. I'll go – but you'll want to be walking away free an' going about your business before I do. For your guys' peace of mind.'

'Sorry about your parents,' she said, biting her lower lip. For the first time, Hayoto's carefully trained expression broke; he did not get the time to form his thoughts into a spoken question.

'Well, what are ya' waitin' for, dumbass?' Lilinette yelled in consternation, her foot tapping as if to mark the number of seconds he had before she decided to just finish the job and blow him out through the wall instead of just into it. Hayoto stood as if burned, but he did not move towards the doorway. This Hollow, this woman, this...whatever-whoever- she was, had given away far more to his trained mind that she might have suspected with her previous actions in the riot and here, with her words.

His brother was alive. His brother was well, well enough, and apparently held in some manner of camaraderie – enough for her to forego whatever advantages she could have obtained by arresting the last Ukitake that still roamed free. Enough, he realized, for her to forego the chance of doing away with the organized group the riot had forced him to reveal.

Her gesture in looking up and down the street before she closed the door behind her returned with a vengeance – she was not foolish, Hayato realized once more. She'd considered whether the house was guarded, and understood that she may well have been in danger. If so, she'd clearly thought of the fact that the group she'd observed in motion was not a loosely connected gang of butchers, carpenters and tailors, and probably already guessed that they had not assembled only to disperse the crowd. She must have known that they were Aizen's enemies.

And still, she didn't care.

Aizen's forces were not unified, or, by sheer great fortune, he'd discovered a significant crack in their line.

Instinct determined his next move, guiding him to speak when rational thought would be too hindered by his own experience. He'd need to maintain contact.

'Wait…'

Lilinette clenched her teeth.

'Ya were the one just leaving,' she said, cranking her nose. 'What?' the girl asked, frowning deeply.

'You said you keep your word,' Hayoto said, slowly putting his knife back in its hidden sheath. His calm had seamlessly returned, but oddly, he did not feel the need to slip his mask in place, nor query the fact that she was simply letting him go.

'Yeh,' the girl shrugged.

'To me, that means you will come out here with your Shinigami and try to control the harm to my people,' he continued, not disguising the fact that the words had not been a polite request. She didn't flinch.

'Yeh,' the Hollow said once more, and once more, Hayoto believed her.

'I'll see you around, then,' he concluded, smiling what he grudgingly admitted to himself must have been his brother's smile; Lilinette's sudden, wide grin assured him that it was.

* * *

And the plot thickens yet again. Hopefully, you've enjoyed this latest OC and haven't found him detraction from your love of your favorite main characters. Look to see this Hayoto guy again shortly.

Next week: the perfect storm of a very, _very_ bored Gin, assertive Lilinette and Grimmjow doing paperwork combine true tragic comedy.


	32. Management 103

Hehe, betting this one is unexpected. Was planning on a rude intro, but

I'll leave that to Grimm. In chapter 32,

- where Gin is awesome, and Ulquiorra gets administratively challenged.

* * *

'Nooo…' Gin refuted, in exaggerated surprise. 'Can't be!'

He once more looked over the paper in his hand, and, uncharacteristically looked up at Ulquiorra with wide open eyes.

The Cuarta blinked, offering no sign of emotion. Ichimaru sighed, acknowledging that he should have expected nothing, and shifted his glance to Grimmjow, who was bound to give far more satisfaction.

The teal haired Arrancar sat with his legs crossed, striking an uncomfortable pose on a chair that had clearly not been designed to accommodate that position, and watching Gin's face so attentively that the Shinigami imagined the inner panther's tail twitching.

'Wot?' Grimmjow growled, aggressively leaning forward.

Ichimaru Gin shook his head and snickered – it was not often that one sensed insecurity in Grimmjow. In truth, the 1st division lieutenant thought, it might actually have been the first time.

'Nooo,' he repeated, for the simple pleasure of watching Grimmjow lean in even more aggressively, as if getting ready to pounce.

'Wot!' the Sexta exploded. 'What _no?'_

'No, ya couldn't have written this – no,' Ichimaru snickered, waving the piece of paper for a second, before laying it down on his desk, and still incredulously beholding it, with attention befitting the miracle it represented.

Grimmjow huffed, and crossed his arms over his chest.

'Whatever!' he exclaimed, looking away. 'I am not running for a bloody style award – an' you!' Grimmjow hissed, abruptly turning towards Ulquiorra. 'I should've shoved it down your throat, the minute ya thought ya' could turn this round. I'm not asking, dude, I'm fucking telling…'

'I shall not permit this,' Ulquiorra said, dryly, not shifting his eyes away from Gin.

'An' I say you're no one to permit nothing, ya little…' Grimmjow replied, jumping off the chair as if Ulquiorra's words had been an attack flare.

'Whoo, hold on just a minute there,' Ichimaru snickered once more. 'I am still at the point where I can't believe that Grimmjow can _fucking_ write, gimme a mo' to recover from the shock…'

'Let's make pretend like I bleeding dictated, an' get over it! Bloody hell! Look, Ichimaru, this is dead easy. I wanna…'

'I shall not allow any Mobile Corps unsupervised incursions into Rukongai,' Ulquiorra repeated.

'You are a cunt,' Grimmjow logically concluded; the Cuarta actually turned his head.

Ichimaru scratched the back of his neck, and defensively leaned back in his chair.

'Guys…' he vainly attempted.

'I will not tolerate this,' Ulquiorra plainly said, crossing his arms over his chest.

'Guys!' Ichimaru attempted again, to no avail.

'You are not the boss of me, you stupid, arrogant an' lazy bastard!' Grimmjow exploded.

'I am neither stupid nor lazy,' Ulquiorra unflappably and correctly refuted.

'Guys?' Gin queried, looking up at the two Espada.

'This is obviously Stark's ploy,' the Cuarta said, his glance snapping on to Ichimaru's. 'Aizen-sama should…'

'Right.' Ichimaru said, standing up, and bringing his entire reiatsu to bear with the motion – both Ulquiorra and Grimmjow took an unwilling step back. The Sexta clenched his jaws, and Ulquiorra narrowed his eyes. 'We ain't at the point where we're telling Aizen what he should or shouldn't.'

The reiatsu receded as quickly as it had risen.

'What's up with ya guys?' the Shinigami asked, the utter confusion in his voice not making his grin recede.

Forget Grimmjow's uncertainty, Ichimaru thought, in utter amazement. He had never seen Ulquiorra so rattled. He therefore helpfully offered the best advice he could.

'Everybody, take a step back,' he said. 'If ya lads wanna have a word, an' then come back in here, take it outside – no way I'm havin' my office cleaned midweek, Tousen's gonna have a fit. An' calm down, will ya, Ulquiorra? Deep breaths in an' out, mate…Chill.'

There was an odd moment of peace – Grimmjow looked away, with a hot, but undoubtedly subdued huff. Just as Ichimaru had dreaded, however, Ulquiorra simply blinked.

'May I suggest you take a moment to _read_ the 3rd Division's report, Ichimaru-sama?' the Cuarta asked, staring straight at the back of Ichimaru's chair, despite the fact that Gin was not sitting on it. For however much he disliked the idea, the Shinigami painfully acquiesced that reading whatever Grimmjow had written might potentially have offered a short term solution to whatever the hell the problem was.

At three in the afternoon. On a Tuesday.

Well, at least the text looked short, Gin thought, glimpsing over the page once more. A dry, red wax stamp, which simply read – _Rejected -_ marked the corner of the page. The Shinigami lingered on the word for a second, wondering whether Ulquiorra had had the stamp made himself, or if there had been one before him. There probably had been one, he conceded to himself. Soi Fon too had had just that kind of a…rejected stamp personality.

Oh well.

_Stuff was going down,_ the first line read.

He cringed.

_And we fixed the stuff that was going down, accomplishing the goals set forth by the brief mission parameters indicated to the 3__rd__ Division._

All right, Gin thought. A switch in tone, nothing wrong with that.

_Turned out there was a real load of bullshit going on in the background, though, which we need to fix as well. The pressures Rukongai is undertaking, in the absence of regular patrols, are turning out to be more than Sereitei originally evaluated; the reality of a Hollow invasion and an uprising of already present criminal elements are overwhelming to undefended plusses. Homes are being raided, children are being held for ransom, and previously unchecked criminal elements are enhancing the tension._

_So the plusses were pissed, which led to them throwing stuff at the walls. If we want them to stop throwing stuff at the walls, we believe the correct course of action is attempting to ease some of the additional pressures Rukongai is subjected to by assuring that acceptable safety levels are maintained._

_The 3__rd__ Division of the Gotei herby…_

'You misspelled some shit,' Gin noted.

Grimmjow simply shook his head, and rolled his eyes.

'It's _hereby, _not _herby_.'

'Dude,' the Sexta protested.

'Fine,' Ichimaru conceded, finally getting to the part he suspected Ulquiorra was all in a huff about.

_The 3__rd__ Division of the Gotei hereby decides that it is in good faith, good sense, and in the best interest of Sereitei that regular patrols to Rukongai are established._

_Regular patrols from the 3__rd__ Division shall occur on every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, at appointed time intervals, to be scheduled at a later date._

_We'll need to be doing a walk by when we feel like walking by. Whenever._

_With respect,_

_Grimmjow Jagguerjaques,_

_Shadow Officer to the 3__rd__ Division of the Gotei._

'I am taking the dictation thing under serious consideration, mate.' Gin concluded, looking up from the paper.

'Lilinette wrote this,' Ulquiorra pointed out.

'Wasn't Lili, was me an' a guy named Takeshi, what the fuck!' the Sexta muttered.

'Lilinette wrote this,' the Cuarta repeated. 'Stark wrote this,' he said, bringing the issue on point.

'Ah,' Gin sighed.

That made the entire thing a lot clearer.

'Still not over the road sign business at the 13th , eh, Ulquiorra?' Ichimaru tiredly inquired. The Cuarta did not answer, but he did not need to.

The fact that Stark's eccentric response to the attempts on the grounds of his division had gone unchallenged at the higher levels must have still rattled Ulquiorra quite a bit. He had, of course, stoically accepted Aizen's decision, and even taken Gin's amusement at Stark's actions in stride, yet, over the weeks that had passed, he'd grown less careful in hiding his personal enmity towards the Primera. In a sense, Gin reckoned that he liked the new state of affairs better – nothing like the drama of an ancient enmity brought in the open to lighten up overly long and dull afternoon meetings. If Stark actually bothered to show up, the Shinigami conceded with an inward sigh.

In truth, the entire issue was really funny.

Ulquiorra probably feared that, given the long term promise of presence in Sereitei, Stark was beginning to take his role as Primera more seriously. After all, before the war, Stark had had no reason to do anything more than grudgingly fill whatever part was handed to him by the establishment, and maintain as much of his neutrality as he could. In Stark's paranoid world, the chances that the war would actually be won, and that Aizen would keep his word to his Hollow subordinates if the war was won, must have been slim. He had therefore kept his efforts to the bare minimum. Still, now, after the occupation had grown into its eighth month, even Stark must have come to realize that the situation would last, and begun to react to it in such an odd and characteristic manner that the honesty of his behaviour could not truly be doubted.

Or maybe it was Re-chan, Ichimaru thought, widening his grin. Those two had been going at it…Well, those two had been going at it with a little more enthusiasm than _science_ actually needed. It would be interesting to see how that one went when Aizen decided to pull the plug on Szayel's game. Maybe, Gin thought, it would be interesting to suggest that, at some point soon.

In any event, for whatever reason, Stark was coming down with the program, at last; Gin had had to admit to himself that the road sign stunt had amused him to no end, not only because of Stark's wording, but because he'd understood the intent behind it. To Ulquiorra's utter shock, Aizen had understood and appreciated it too – and Stark had gained complete control of the 13th, with no obligation of reporting into any structure other than the New Central itself.

The Cuarta had accepted the blow with his regular, outer calm, and tried to minimize the amount of attention he paid Stark, with the likely expectation that the Primera would make little use of his newly gained independence. Not a bad assumption, given Stark's disposition, and the fact that he never showed up for Central meetings. However, it looked like the plague of special demands had begun to spread.

Grimmjow could seldom be held under suspicion of thoughtful behaviour, and probably would have been the last person Gin would have coined for reinstating patrols to Rukongai. And, in truth, reinstating was rather a big word. Sereitei had never truly patrolled Rukongai.

Yeah, Gin thought. _He_ knew all about _that_.

The other thing that Grimmjow could not be suspected of, however, was not drawing attention. If he managed to get his initiative pushed through and over Ulquiorra's head, the Cuarta would never see the end of it, especially since, Ichimaru suspected, Ulquiorra instinctively understood that Grimmjow…and Lilinette, Gin reminded himself, were probably on the correct trail. The attacks on Sereitei's walls would let up if Rukongai felt some sort of protection in place.

And Ulquiorra, who guessed it was a good idea, and probably wished it had been his idea, was still staring blankly ahead.

'I dunno, mate,' Gin said, not even knowing which one of the Espada he'd just spoken to.

'I believe this decision…'Ulquiorra began.

'…is dead easy,' Grimmjow ended for him, not making Gin's life any simpler. 'It's a fucking win-win, that's what it is, dude – ya get left alone, I get to rip faces, an' my Shinigami feel useful. All good for all. Also, an' this is another huge gain, Lili don't kick me in the balls no more – not to mention, if Lili don't get this, she ain't gonna just let slide, an' other balls gonna get kicked. Oh yeah,' the Sexta concluded, nodding to Gin's apprehensively questioning glance. 'Ya talking to the civilized half right now.'

'Mate,' Gin winced.

'Ya made this happen, Ichimaru,' Grimmjow matter of factly reminded. 'I wanted to be left alone, but ya just had to go an' push it. Right when me and Lilinette took this, I told ya I'm not gonna hang on Ulquiorra, and I'm not hangin'. In my books, that means _you_ need to deal with pale face...'

'Your attempts at verbal communication confuse me, Sexta.' Ulquiorra said, dryly. 'Even more so than your attempts at written communication.'

'Fucking hell!'

'Whoa!' Gin exclaimed, using his shadow step just in time to press one fist into Grimmjow's chest and the other into Ulquiorra's shoulder, and pushing them apart just before the Sexta had managed to grab hold of the Cuarta's tunic. 'Guys! Will ya let me get a word in before you rip each others' heads off? For a tiny little thing like this?'

Ulquiorra's glance turned cutting. No wonder, Gin thought. Whatever else the Cuarta might have lacked, he was not lacking in intuition.

'I believe this matter is of great importance, Ichimaru-sama.'

Gin smiled wide, showing his teeth. Yes, he assumed Ulquiorra would think that.

The Shinigami looked to Grimmjow, his glance warning the Sexta off more open attacks; Grimmjow cursed under his breath, but did take half a step back, oddly enough giving Ichimaru the impression that he'd done it not to harm his _case._

'Good kitty,' Gin smirked.

Maybe, he thought, circling his desk, and quite enjoying the tension in the air, Lilinette wasn't the only one growing.

'Now, Grimmjow, ol' buddy, ol' pal,' he began, once more casually browsing through the report, 'give it to me straight. What is it that ya really found out there?'

'A bunch of really pissed off plusses, just like the paper fucking _indicates,'_ the Sexta growled.

'An' you got them to go home by…'

Grimmjow's eyes narrowed.

'By bein' the smooth talker I am,' he said, dryly. 'What's it to ya?'

'Nothing,' Gin shrugged. 'Just that I think you're being real modest – I mean, there's not a word in this comprehensive piece of literature that mentions how you fixed the stuff that was goin' down. That's all.'

'I ain't looking for a medal.' The Sexta answered, shoving his hands in his pockets. 'Dude…' he impatiently followed. 'Ya gonna get Ulquiorra off my back or what? I ain't got all day…'

'Perhaps we should escalate this matter to Aizen-sama,' Ulquiorra coldly suggested.

_Big fucking mistake._

Gin's grin froze. 'Ya think this is too big for me, Ulquiorra?' he asked – to his satisfaction, the Cuarta clenched his jaws. 'A decision over a little patrol detail?'

'I did not mean to imply…' Ulquiorra began, sounding even, but offering the phrase in an uncharacteristically rushed manner.

'Sounded like it to me,' Grimmjow innocently shrugged, turning his glance to the ceiling.

'What I intended to say was that this minor issue has implications which perhaps Aizen-sama should…'

'Here we go again with what Aizen should an' shouldn't,' Gin smirked; Ulquiorra wisely remained silent. The Shinigami allowed a few seconds of silence in the wake of his words, enjoying the tension. He sat back down, slowly, shifting his glance from Grimmjow's increasingly impatient posture, and Ulquiorra's stiff, impenetrable expression.

'Now, I have ta say…' Gin shrugged, looking over the page in his hand once more, and enjoying the fact that Grimmjow was actually holding his breath, 'I have ta say I don't see nothing wrong with this – well, other than maybe ya should really try to either write the whole thing yourself, Grimmjow, or just let the other guy…what was his name, ya said?'

'Takeshi.'

'Ah,' Gin frowned, after a second of hesitation. 'He was kindda new…' the Shinigami muttered to himself. 'In any event, mate, just try to make dem reports looks like there's a fucking unitary vision or something…'

'I ain't gonna write any more fucking reports,' Grimmjow growled.

'Yeh,' Gin chuckled, looking at the Sexta through the corner of his eyes. 'Where have I heard that before…'

'Does this exchange imply that the 3rd Division will be allowed to patrol Rukongai without supervision?'

Ulquiorra had not even blinked this time.

Gin leaned back in the chair, and knitted his fingers before him, in what he imagined was quite a dignified pose.

'Yeah,' he said, slowly. 'I'm lettin' them go out. Why the fuck not? It's a win-win, right?'

He waited for Ulquiorra to disagree – to his astonishment, he felt the Cuarta was on the very verge of it; his fixed pupils had dilated so much that his eyes seemed to have no trace of sclera: simply dark, green depth. Ulquiorra's fingers, with skin so white that they were almost undistinguishable from the impeccably clean uniform had not clenched but he'd been pressing them ever so slightly into his sides. He still said nothing.

Ichimaru Gin theatrically reached for his writing brush, and slowly shook off the excess ink – he did not look at the paper, but maintained his eyes on Ulquiorra as he crossed out the 2nd Division's _Rejected_ wax stamp, and wrote – _Initiative Approved by the 1__st__ Division,_ just underneath it. The Cuarta's glance slipped to the floor.

'Thanks, dude,' Grimmjow wolfishly grinned, taking in Ulquiorra's defeat with as much hungry satisfaction as Gin himself did.

'Don't mention it, mate,' Ichimaru said, his smile once more turning toothy. 'Have a good one, y'all!' he added, marking the end of the audience – with another triumphant glance in Ulquiorra's direction, the Sexta left the room, slamming the door behind him. The Cuarta turned away slowly, with military precision, and took one step towards the door.

'Ya know, Ulquiorra,' Gin dreamily said, leaning back in his chair, 'I got something to tell ya which might help with the problem ya're havin' right about now.'

The Cuarta looked over his shoulder. 'I do not perceive anything as a problem at this point,' he said. 'The matter was clearly resolved by the person with the adequate level of authority.'

Yes, Gin thought, wondering how much energy Ulquiorra had just put behind the even, unperturbed voice with which he'd delivered the blow. In the Cuarta's shoes, Grimmjow would have said – _Your funeral, dude_, and Gin would have liked it far better.

'I can't do nothing about you an' Stark, and I really don't wanna, cuz it's not my problem,' Gin smoothly continued. 'It ain't Aizen's problem either,' he added. 'Quit trying to make it his, cuz every time he's gonna show you he doesn't care, and every time it's just gonna be your ego taking a kick in the nuts.'

Ulquiorra turned around in full.

'The other thing ya need to understand is that one behaviour pattern, an' an annoying one at that, mate, ain't gonna carry you to the ends of time.' Gin sincerely said. 'As ya move between folks within this organization, ya need to grasp that if ya can't alter your behaviour to suit whomever it is ya're talking to, ya simply gonna get stuck, and never get higher. Heck,' he chuckled, 'look at Tousen. D'ya think he's goin' places?'

The Cuarta did not respond, but Ichimaru fancied he'd seen the shadow of a nod.

'In this world, ya don't deal only with Aizen-sama,' Gin concluded. 'Ya deal with me too, and, frankly, ya need to learn that your stony face is fucking indigestible from where I am standing. To such an extent, mate, that I'm gonna do shit just to piss you off, and that ain't my fault alone. It's also yours.'

'I believe you have made that abundantly clear this afternoon, Ichimaru-sama,' Ulquiorra finally responded.

'Yeh, but see – now we got an _issue.'_ Gin smirked. 'I, being the sensitive man I am, feel that you have a legitimate concern with Grimmjow an' Lilinette being up and about. Something that ain't your manhood contest with Stark, but something that I, and maybe even Aizen should be thinking about. An' if I were less of a sensitive man, I'd let you walk outta here having failed ta tell me what the true issue is.'

As if the fact that Grimmjow could actually write had not been a great enough miracle for a random Tuesday, Ulquiorra breathed out in what seemed like genuine relief. The Cuarta looked up, meeting Gin's glance, and his pupils, Ichimaru noted, suddenly retracted to their normal size.

'There's a reason why I'm _his_ lieutenant, mate,' Gin said. 'Fucking respect it.'

'Yes, Ichimaru-sama,' Ulquiorra answered. Gin nodded, and leaned back in the chair.

'The unrest in Rukongai was unprepared but served the interests of the Secret Mobile Core,' Ulquiorra began. 'The tensions were beginning to escalate to the point where the plusses would either have to police themselves, or allow themselves to be destroyed by the Sereitei Divisions.'

'Yeah,' Gin said.

'Logic would point that the structures of the resistance that have formed in Rukongai and have continuously struck within Sereitei would not allow the latter to come to pass. Firstly, because of Shinigami emotional attachment to the welfare of plusses, but secondly because if the number of plusses in the first ten districts were to be thinned, the network of the resistance organization would be laid bare.' Ulquiorra followed. 'It therefore follows that, had the tensions been allowed to escalate further, the resistance, which is probably the only structure organized enough to employ force in any meaningful way, would have been forced to surface and conduct some form of peace keeping activities.'

'If the 3rd Division…' he said, then stopped abruptly as Ichimaru nodded.

Gin took a moment, then slowly nodded once more.

'Yeah,' he repeated. 'If the 3rd goes out and does that policing for 'em, the resistance can stay hidden for longer.'

'Indeed, Ichimaru-sama. I do not believe the Sexta would understand this line of reasoning, which is why an explanation of my rejection was not offered to him and…Lilinette.' The Cuarta forced himself to say. 'Perhaps my brevity was ill advised.'

His mood taking a turn for the worst, Ichimaru glanced out the window. The corners of his thin lips were pointing downwards.

It was not that he disapproved at the Cuarta's logic, or that he thought he'd made a mistake that gave Ichimaru Gin pause. It was the fact that he wondered whether after he'd finally made a breakthrough and gotten Ulquiorra to resort to something that laid in the neighborhood of free speech, the Cuarta deserved to be let in on greater…things. He wondered whether perhaps he should have spoken to Aizen before he made the decision…

_Screw that_, Gin thought.

There was, after all, a reason why he was God's lieutenant.

'Ya are absolutely right in what ya said, Ulquiorra,' he spoke. 'An', if the resistance was our biggest problem, I'd call Grimmjow right back in here and get myself some iron codpiece for when Lilinette follows.'

He looked up, sustaining Ulquiorra's questioning glance.

'The resistance is beginning to be a serious issue,' the Cuarta reminded.

'Yes, mate,' Ichimaru nodded. 'But we're soon going to be having another one, and the resistance's gonna drop out of view like a rock in a barrel. Trust me,' Ichimaru concluded, still glancing out the window. 'You're not gonna worry 'bout some shitty explosions for much longer.'

'That's more heads up than anyone that's not Aizen, you an' me has got, Ulquiorra,' he said.

The Cuarta bowed deeply.

'I appreciate that.'

* * *

Up next - whatever is up next :) Stark & Uno, maybe.


	33. Critique of Pure Reason

...and back to Stark/Uno for a philosphycal stint, to signal the end of a long and hot summer for all :)

* * *

_Two things fill the mind with ever new and increasing admiration and awe, the more often and steadily reflection is occupied with them: the starry heaven above me and the moral law within me. Neither of them need I seek and merely suspect as if shrouded in obscurity or rapture beyond my own horizon; I see them before me and connect them immediately with my existence._

- Immanuel Kant.

* * *

Stark took a sip of his glass of wine, then bit his lower lip and smiled. In her turn, Unohana lingered on the porch, as if she'd wondered whether or not she should cross the boundary of the looking glass – he did not grudge her the hesitation. Perhaps, the Primera considered, because she was smiling as well.

'Good day,' Unohana said.

'Good day to you,' he responded. 'Welcome,' Stark said, opening his arms to his sides, 'to our monthly encounter in the house of horrors, fourth division grounds, third street to the left. Look for the storm cloud, watch out for the lightning.'

'Your sense of humour is more awful by the day,' Unohana laughed, stepping in and gracefully shedding her haori.

She slipped in and sat on her knees by his side – in a motion that felt beautifully natural, he leaned to the side, and she kissed his temple, then, his lips.

'Hello, lovely woman,' he whispered, slipping his fingers through her hair. Unohana gripped his shoulders far tighter than he thought she should have.

'Thank you,' she said, suddenly putting her arms around his neck. 'Thank you, Gods…'

'Gods?' Stark snickered. 'It is still just me. Unless I have been promoted, without my knowledge, I am still…awful?' he guessed.

'Thoroughly,' Unohana nodded, holding him close enough to cut his breath. 'Thoroughly awful. Thank you.'

She hid his face in his shoulder, suddenly shivering, and fighting known shadows – he bitterly smiled, knowing that she could not see him, and caressed her hair. He had not expected this, Stark thought, feeling grateful. He hadn't expected that she would simply thank him, then remain silent, and fight to keep the Shinigami out on his behalf.

He knew what she was thanking him for.

Word of his resolution of the attempt's aftermath had spread like wildfire; it had predictably caused Barragan and Ulquiorra to fume, but Halibel had passed by the 13th and privately congratulated him on the _inclusive_ approach, while, in an equally unexpected sign of sense of humour and solidarity, the little gay Granz had immediately begun to display the 13th Division policy on suicide attempts in big neon signs all over the 12th Division grounds. And, since the 12th, with its make-up of strange, stranger, and in the realm of unbelievably eccentric characters was the least likely hotbed for suicide attempts, Stark could only suppose that Szayel had begun displaying the sign just to demonstrate his personal displeasure at being called out from his dungeons to witness endless and time wasting executions.

It was obvious that Szayel Aporro had not seen it fit to keep the source of his inspiration secret; oddly enough, the Octava was the only one who maintained no barriers of secrecy between himself and his Shinigami.

'We can speak about it if you wish,' he said; Unohana relaxed in his embrace. 'All of it.' Stark whispered, wondering if she'd felt the deep breath he had just drawn. 'I know you wish to.'

She looked up, and smiled in her turn.

'You were the one who asked for quarter,' Unohana gently reminded.

'I was,' he shrugged, looking away, and pondering his own lack of hesitation. With the night of the attempt, and the three weeks that had passed between then and now, the world had crept inside their walls. It was strange, the Primera thought. Somehow, he had imagined that someday, it would be exactly the opposite way – that she, or he, would falter and accidentally find a means of blowing the boundaries of the spell apart. He'd not guessed that, through no fault of their own, the world itself would so do away with the separation, nor, Stark decided, that the slow lifting of the veil, the image of who this woman was, of who she'd been, would frighten or anger him so little.

He'd watched her on that night; he'd seen her actions, and he'd heard her words – he'd watched her applying her skills, he'd seen her smile, he'd seen her forcing her attentions on those she could save, and away from those who were dead but still breathing. He'd seen her choose, sell illusions of salvation and offer true salvation in turn, and applying surreal fairness in prioritizing the wounded, to such an extent that he'd even questioned whether in her position he would have had both the courage and the willpower of doing the same.

There was nothing contrived about Unohana Retsu – neither her frailty, nor her honesty, nor her strength were conjured for his benefit. She was the same, perhaps an even better and more complete person when she stepped outside of the vacuum, and, as he'd watched her imaginary contours fill with real colour, he'd seamlessly discovered that he wished to touch and experience the true colours as well.

She'd placed her hands on the table before them, and the contrast between simple darkness of the polished wood and her alabaster skin made her skin appear glowing.

'I think,' Unohana began, looking down upon her fingers, and carefully analyzing her short, rounded nails, 'that the distinct separation between the subconscious and superior cognitive processes is something to truly marvel at.'

Stark laughed, and glanced at her incredulously.

'I do hope you are not Szayel Aporro is a masterful disguise,' he chuckled.

Judging by the look in her eyes, she'd entertained taking the joke just a bit further, to the realm of the uncomfortable.

'I meant…' she began to explain – he laughed, and kissed her forehead.

'You meant that sometimes it's not intelligent to think about what one feels,' Stark clarified. Unohana shrugged and smiled.

'I should have been disheartened by the fact that you were uninjured,' she said, looking straight into his eyes. Pained, frail shadows that still existed, but still carried no weight rose in his heart, and he bit his lower lip, but did not look away. 'I wasn't.' Unohana simply stated. 'I was not exhilarated that you survived, either…' she added, almost in wonder at herself, and simply because he understood she was truly letting her emotions do the speaking, Stark felt nothing of what he thought he should have felt.

'Well I do hope at least the piano got _some_ commiseration,' he responded, arching an eyebrow, then abruptly shifted to the side to avoid being pinched.

'Will you stop…'

'No,' he answered, giving her an innocently injured grin.

The Primera leaned back on his arms, and looked at the ceiling.

'I wasn't exhilarated myself,' he said, taking a deep breath. 'Not because I am a martyr type, far from – it was just that…'

He stole a glance in her direction, and sighed, choosing to reward her painful and brave honesty with as much of his own honesty as he could muster, and inwardly wondering if she'd think him arrogant.

'It was just that I did not feel like I had escaped any sort of danger,' Stark shrugged. 'Firstly, it was all so fast that I barely had time to think of anything other than – what is this gentleman doing in my living room? Ah, indeed, setting himself off; that will doubtlessly be a short visit…He had so little reiatsu that I barely felt him. And, just because of that, the only thing I truly felt that night was regret and incredulity over the pointlessness and frankly, stupidity of it all.'

'Oh, God, I just sounded like Ulquiorra might, if and when he discovers alcohol,' he sighed, mostly to himself.

She laughed, with a bitter undertone, and laid back in her turn, grimacing a little when her shoulders touched the bare floor.

'We need a carpet,' Unohana noted.

'Ah, are we having long term plans of lying on the living room floor?' he queried, curiously gazing down at her. Her eyes narrowed menacingly.

'No,' she answered, giving him a thin, and awkwardly threatening smile, which somehow felt warm and freezing at the same time, 'but I believe that being prepared for incidentals should not be left to chance. You disagree?' she sweetly asked.

Stark shook his head rapidly, only realizing that he had done it when he'd felt his hair whip at his cheeks; he chuckled at himself and she laughed in turn, not at him, he realized, but at something else.

'When I was a young girl my father told me that if my mother had _only_ left me _that_ smile, she'd still would have left me enough to rule the world,' Unohana laughed.

'Yes, indeed,' he answered. 'What _was_ that?'

'I genuinely have no idea,' she confessed. 'I don't do it on purpose – well,' she admitted, with a coquettish shrug, 'I sometimes do, but most times it comes unbidden.'

'It has a very creepy Aizen-Gin undertone,' Stark remarked.

'Well, thank you for that,' the woman protested. 'You speak such charming words!'

'Apologies,' the Arrancar laughed, scratching the back of his head. 'It was the first thing that came to mind. Yes,' he conceded, lying by her side, and shifting uncomfortably at the contact with the cold, hard floor. 'We do need a carpet.'

She nodded, magnanimously welcoming his acceptance of the obvious.

'I did not truly feel happy that you survived until that morning,' she said – for some reason, it was this confession that gave him pause and lent strength to the shadows in his heart. Stark remained silent. 'Then, above all other things I understood,' Unohana followed, 'that you must have had something to do with the disappearance of your attacker's family – Jushiro's bankai release seemed to be timed to the precise moment of Ulquiorra's arrival, and I gathered that the two of you were together when the Cuarta arrived...'

'My very cryptic conversation with Findor was not cryptic enough, I gather,' Stark said, a bit dryly.

'No,' she apologetically shrugged. 'Knowing what I know of how Aizen conducts himself, I also guess what Jushiro's first thought would have been. It certainly would have been mine. Time for quarter?' she asked, noticing his glance had grown distant and cold, and caressing his cheek.

Stark seriously considered the offer, finding that the casual mention of Ukitake's name, and the familiarity that it implied had caused a sudden, painful knot in his throat.

'Did you know him well?' he asked, wondering if his voice betrayed anything of what he felt.

'Jushiro?' Unohana inquired back, frowning lightly and raising herself on her elbow to take a closer look at the Arrancar. 'Yes – I was fortunate enough for him to think he had something to learn from me at some point, after his Academy days. Him and Kyoraku Shunsui were…'

She looked away, smiling at the warmth of the memory.

'They were both bright stars, in different ways,' the woman whispered. 'I was much younger at the time, and I think still struggling with the idea that I would never have children of my own. Perhaps not with the idea,' she reconsidered. 'With the mere fact.'

'Did you ever feel that?' she asked, turning on her side to face him before he could answer. 'That you sense the world is meaningless and you are not contributing any further meaning; that all is no more than the physical present, and that all is empty of substance?'

'Jushiro and Shunsui happened across my path just as I was feeling like that,' Unohana said, 'and it used to be amusing to me that they seemed to think that I have the strength to survive everything, when it was them who gave me the strength to survive all. They were the same age, and glued together by whatever beautiful randomness – Jushiro is steady and giving, by nature, not by education, while Shunsui is an unstoppable force, and both of them came to me precisely when I was thinking I had nothing to give the world and that the world had nothing to give me.'

'We assume it's easier to love what is our own – our own children, our own village, our own food,' she chuckled, putting her index on the tip of his nose and watching his frown as if on command. 'And then, all of a sudden, something foreign rushes to contradict that, and the perceived meaninglessness of the world fades away. In those days I felt like I was going through my life with the sole purpose of hiding my physical failure as a woman,' Unohana said, once more lying on her back and crossing her wrists under her head. 'Until this one young man who'd been utterly failed by nature in his turn was sent into my office…'

Stark cringed; she did not notice.

'Jushiro never hid his weakness,' Unohana continued. 'Perhaps at some point he tried to – well, sometimes he still does…did,' she bitterly corrected, giving him an awkwardly pleading glance. 'But the nature of his illness is such that he could not run from it more than I could run from my being barren. I taught him breathing techniques that would enhance his Kido and the occasional sword trick. He taught me not to spend my days and my energy hiding from myself, and that whatever flaws one perceives in oneself, the only thing that is necessary for generosity is the honest intent of giving. No more.'

'I always wondered why he called me _senpai_,' she frowned, in honest doubt. 'Around him and Shunsui I always felt like a cheat.'

'He is of seven siblings,' Unohana followed, looking at the ceiling. 'And he was orphaned when he was incredibly young – not only left with a frail body and horde of frightened young children to care for, but with a state of household finances that required a knife-juggling act to balance. Not poor, mind you,' she added, 'but that I guess made it all harder – if one has nothing, then there is nothing to protect and at least one focus is unnecessary. Jushiro didn't get that mental luxury. He was left with just enough to make him worry, but not with enough to free him of thinking of the next meal. You'd never known it, though – by the joy and interest he took in every day, and by the fact that whatever his burdens, he was always willing to shoulder more, think too much, feel too much and let Shunsui laugh him into a coughing fit…He's like the chord of a musical instrument,' she whispered. 'His beauty lies in the fact that he is stretched to the point of breaking, and may break at any moment, but still radiates nothing but harmony around himself when he is touched.'

'I hope you are being kind to him,' she whispered. 'Gods, I hope…'

'No, I am not,' Stark said, watching her eyes grow cold at the look on his features that she had only now noticed.

'Why,' she queried, softly. 'Why would you, who demonstrate unprompted kindness at every turn choose him…'

'Because he was the instrument that made this,' Stark answered, resolutely taking her hand into his, and placing both of their fingers across the hole in his chest. 'And this,' he added, letting his hand slip over her wrist, and guiding her fingers alone to the sharp fangs under his chin.

Her hand snaked away as soon as he'd let go, and he watched the shadows of dusk play across a beautiful, rounded face that had suddenly grown bitter and sharp – she was thinking through his words, he understood, so he allowed her quarter while half hoping she would allow none.

Lilinette certainly wouldn't have.

'You do understand that he was only the instrument.'

Unohana Retsu did not disappoint either.

'Yes,' Stark reluctantly admitted, still frowning to let her know that he sensed and resented the attack. She frowned sternly in return, but lifted herself minutely off the floor to allow his arm to snake under her neck. 'But, just as you yourself pointed, Retsu, there is a wide gaping distance between the subconscious and superior cognitive processes…'

'I do hope you are working to close it.' The woman interrupted, looking at him through narrowed eyes.

'As much as you are,' Stark answered, with a shrug. She rested her chin on his shoulder, seemingly pondering the fairness of the offer. 'Are we planning to eat, tonight?' he innocently asked.

She sternly stared at him for a few seconds more.

'_If_ you are planning to cook foreign food, then yes, we are.' Unohana said, flatly.

'Well,' he concluded, 'that is distinctly unfair.'

The woman simply shrugged, making him sigh and painstakingly hoist himself up. He had no cooking inspiration at the moment, but, Stark thought, looking over his shoulder and noticing she had simply stretched out even further on the bare floor, he would die before admitting _that_. He walked into the pantry, and helplessly glanced around at the myriad ingredients that pleaded to be combined.

'I don't understand, though,' she said, raising her voice to make herself heard.

_I don't either_, he thought.

'How can you irrationally hate Jushiro and still make the rational distinction between him and his division?'

'That's a relatively new evolution,' he said, picking up a jar of comfit du canard1. He decided it was as good a place to start as any, and set it aside. 'They were fortunate in a sense – in the beginning, I did not even _see_ them; I only saw him, and that was lucky, because if I had perceived them for as much of an extension of his crippled body as they actually are, I might have been cruel towards them too. Don't imagine I tie him to a post and whip him every morning, though.' He added, wondering why he'd felt the words were necessary as soon as they had left his lips.

'I think I can imagine many other ways in which one could be cruel,' she said.

'Indeed,' Stark answered, kneeling to pick up a few new potatoes.

'You still let him release his Bankai…'

'Shit!' Stark exclaimed, dropping the potatoes – she had shadow stepped just behind him, and despite all of his reflexes, she'd managed to actually scare him. 'Don't do that,' he complained. His plea had no effect on her frown.

'You still let him release his Bankai,' Unohana repeated, demanding an answer.

'Well,' he said, 'on that night it finally stopped being about _him._ You have no idea how hard this was,' Stark added, picking up a rounded potato, and rubbing it in his hand to shake off all remnants of earth. 'Nor of what I've lost on the way.'

'No, I don't,' she said, softly – her glance warmed, and she lowered herself to her knees beside him, holding out a bowl. 'I can only think of what I have found.'

'That is still tremendously short sighted,' Stark correctly observed.

Unohana shrugged.

'It all is what it is.' The woman accepted, gracefully standing and carrying the bowl of new potatoes out into the kitchen.

'I found you,' the woman said.

'I was never lost,' Stark pointed out.

'Nonetheless,' she insisted, filling a carafe only to pour it over the potatoes. He remained in the pantry door, watching her fingers rub the potatoes clean. 'Do you still not want quarter?' she sincerely asked, not looking over her shoulder.

He chuckled, and the look in his eyes turned incredulous. 'Are you still able to withdraw, at this point in the conversation?' Stark returned.

'Unsure,' Unohana responded. 'I was hoping you would give me a direct _no_, and prevent me from trying.' She added, looking over her shoulder and once more flashing her freezing smile.

Stark sighed.

'I lived my human life,' he dared, 'having faith in a certain set of values. I died too soon – the end was neither confirmation nor denial. It was just the end of a kind of existence, and the beginning of another, so distinct in appearance that it was hard to believe that it was still me leading them both.'

'I was not frightened at the time of the explosion; in fact, in a sense, I felt immortal.'

The jar of confit came open with a dry pop, and he cautiously smelled the contents before giving them a final quick glance, and deciding they were to his satisfaction.

'You would not believe this,' the man followed, when she turned around, and placed the bowl of cleaned potatoes on the table between them, 'but I was once young…'

Unohana laughed, and he offered a grin to the many ironies the phrase contained.

'I was once young and alive, and imagined what I would act like if I were immortal,' he said. 'The first resolution, was, of course, that if I were immortal, I would have sufficient time to learn how to play _all_ of Mozart's piano concerts. The second was that I would always keep in touch with what humans are thinking – each age of humanity has had its representative philosophers to voice its thoughts, and I believe that, just as you pointed, immortality gets boring once you lose touch of humanity and overall evolution. No need to peel the potatoes,' he said – she nodded, slipping the small knife she'd taken out back in its drawer, and sitting down to listen.

'In the first few weeks after I…we,' he corrected, 'got here, I somehow failed to remember the purpose of those two resolutions – I still remembered the wording of them, though, so, I went through the motions of immortality. I played my piano, and tried to catch up on everything that humans thought and did in the time when I was…absent,' he said. 'Wasn't particularly good news,' Stark added, with a minute shrug.

Unohana frowned.

'I spent my human life fighting and thinking against what I perceived as oppression and stagnation,' the Arrancar explained. 'Both _yours_,' he said, not insisting on the matter, 'and human imposed ones. I did not live long enough to see the culmination of all of my thoughts and fights; I died but three years before what history books now call the French Revolution. I had been dreaming of that for my entire human life, just as I had dreamed of conquering Sereitei after I awoke in Hueco Mundo, and it was…'

He swallowed dry before continuing. 'It was, in itself a beautiful and harrowing event – a demonstration of the power of humanity assembled, not only in philosophy and thought, but also in strength, and courage of masses assembled under a correct idea…'

'I was not pleased to learn that its immediate aftermath was an inexcusable blood bath,' Stark said, watching Unohana cringe. 'The same mass that had been beautiful in its resolve turned merciless in its revenge, and neither oppression nor stagnation stopped, they simply became weapons in different hands. Though people had fought and died for justice, there was no justice, no thought and especially no mercy. What the winners did was exactly what the losers had done through the centuries. They made those who they thought of as _the others_ suffer, because they finally could.'

'It seems so inevitable,' Unohana whispered. 'Human life is so short…It is amazing that any single idea ever survives the change of generations and that any perspective on the whole exists at all.'

'That is true,' Stark nodded. He hesitated for a second, then turned around to light the fire under the stove.

He watched the flames for a while.

'I am pleased to report,' he picked up, merrily, 'that the very moment that a random man who hated me more than he loved his family destroyed my piano and thus got in the way of my first resolution for immortality, I remembered just why I had made the second.'

'You don't say,' she chuckled.

'I do say indeed,' Stark resolutely nodded. 'I shall have to disappoint you, though – my actions at the 13th are not a question of kindness. I think they are a question of political wisdom…'

'…and especially rooted in profound modesty,' Unohana scolded; it was his turn to magnanimously surrender to the obvious.

'I vowed to re-read all of these books because I thought that immortality would help me make different sense of them,' Stark continued, softly. 'It was not that I could not make sense of them before,' he added, settling on his chair, 'but that I either grew rebellious or a little bit hopeless at the fact that I could clearly see a sequence of events, but was quite powerless to influence future implications that I tended to skip some parts. Existing for three centuries was not _really_ my life's plan.'

'What was it, then?' Unohana inquired. 'Your plan, I mean.'

He hesitated, as if questioning the motives of her curiosity – the woman caught it, and offered him a shy smile.

'You don't have to tell me,' she said. 'I simply…'

'What does every man dream of?' Stark shrugged. 'Rid the world of evil, be married, play the piano, write angry political essays, have four children who share his love of playing the piano and writing angry political essays, then die bald, fat, and without teeth…'

'Charming!' she laughed – somehow, her smile did not spread to his features.

'I did not even want to go to Heaven, in whichever acceptation of the term,' the Primera said. 'Certainly not to _this_ one.'

The Shinigami looked away, clearly wondering if she should have retorted in some way – Stark let her decide for herself, and remained silent as she gathered her thoughts.

'Why not?' she asked, at length. 'Even if you hated us all so, you must have known that, for better or worse, Soul Society did represent some measure of peace.'

'For the elect,' Stark answered, tilting his head to the side when her eyes narrowed, and she looked ready to refute the statement. 'Retsu, I have been in Rukongai,' he dryly reminded.

'Rukongai is not hell,' the woman stated.

'According to some of you, neither is Hueco Mundo,' the Arrancar replied, arching an eyebrow, and almost daring her to respond; Unohana sighed, and though he felt he could have pressed the argument, Stark did not. 'Examples are the mire of any good philosophical expose,' he smiled, abandoning the point. 'Let us not get stuck, hm?'

She eyed him with slight suspicion.

'Alright,' Unohana said, leaning on the side of the table. 'Go on.'

Stark nodded. 'The reason why all utopian societies are untenable,' he began, 'starting with Plato's _Republic_, going through Thomas Moore, Spinoza and Robespierre, through Kant…and other names I shall not bore you with,' Stark laughed, as her eyes went wide, 'is because of the entrenched belief that they require an enlightened dictatorship, at least in their incipient stages.'

'I disapprove of dictatorship as a rule, but it occurs frequently – see Yamamoto,' he grinned, and though she was reluctant, Unohana offered a mild surrendering smile. 'See Aizen,' he added, in surrender of his own. 'Thus, since we seem to repeatedly arrive at the dictatorship solution,' Stark continued, 'the flaw in the whole concept must lie with the supposition of enlightenment.'

He took the pieces of duck meat out of the jar, and laid them aside on a platter, then neatly arranged the new potatoes in a trey and spread some of the duck fat over them, only to step back and admiratively behold his creation.

'Are you doing this on purpose?' she prompted, with a frown.

'Yes,' he admitted. 'Cooking is always deliberate…'

He could not predict where her shadow step would take her, so this time, he had no way of avoiding the pinch, and her impatient frown.

'Speak,' she commanded.

'I also stand in strong disapproval of physical intimidation,' Stark muttered, rubbing his shoulder. 'I am being oppressed,' he complained – her frown did not fade. 'Alright,' he laughed, slipping the trey of potatoes in the oven. 'Alright.'

He sat back down, and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her and leaning his chin on her shoulder.

'It is my stubborn belief,' Stark began, 'that given its premises, no dictatorial society can ever end well – regardless what philosophy or faith such systems propose as a front, all enclosed and unbalanced systems become self devouring. Yamamoto…'

She shifted, but he simply held her tighter, not letting her get away. 'Just bear with the example, and don't become mired in it,' Stark soothingly whispered, wondering where he'd found the kindness, though the mere mention of Yamamoto's name had turned his stomach into a heavy mass of metal. 'I patiently listened through the life and times of Ukitake Jushiro,' he bitterly reminded, feeling assured that she did not understand the parallel, 'who has done _actual_ harm to me. More than I could do to you by words alone.'

'Words…' Unohana whispered – his fingers snaked along her arm, slipping between hers.

'Just words,' the Primera assured, kissing her temple. 'Just thoughts.'

She did not pull her hand away; he guessed it was surrender enough. 'Besides,' he continued, 'I was about to give you all a false positive – I am assured that some good intentions sat behind this _glorious_ creation; and you,' he said, sensing the fact that she'd just taken a deep breath and prepared to interrupt, 'are now prepared to shower me with assurances that at the time, the hierarchy that you'd established made perfect sense. That is a common trait of most dictatorships – not all men choose to claw power like Aizen did.'

'Since these are just _words_, I'd go a step further,' she answered, crooking her neck upwards to meet his glance and frown rebelliously. 'I'd say that establishing a dictatorship was the very least of Yamamoto's intentions. He actually went out of his way to make sure that neither he, nor other structures of the Gotei had any influence over Chamber 46…'

'So he went out of his way to ensure no one in the visible realm could control an unelected, permanent and unchallengeable legislative body?' he interrupted, arching an eyebrow. 'Wise move.'

'Do not be hasty,' the woman answered. 'Multiple minds are certainly better than a single one.'

'In the presence of genuine and transparent debate, or at least some information flows, yes,' Stark answered. 'But this was simply not the case – for all practical purposes, whether Chamber 46 was formed out of twenty or two thousand, it existed as a single independent entity, that was as dictatorial in nature and removed from reality as a single absolutist sovereign might have been.'

'They did not even bother to hold information about their own enforcement structures, Retsu,' Stark softly scolded. 'You've seen _us_ functioning now – do you believe that the New Central would allow anything like Aizen to happen to it?'

'That is because we were all innocent, at the start of it all,' the woman answered, nonetheless lowering her glance. 'We did not assume such evil could exist, let alone arise from our very midst…We were foolish,' she whispered. 'We were trusting.'

'You were arrogant,' the Primera answered, not lending his words a reproachful undertone. 'Most dictatorships are. It is somewhat amusing in a sense – regardless of how any social system starts out, whether it starts with good intentions, or does away with that time-wasting pretence altogether, and just moves on to the inevitable oppression, it always becomes engulfed in its own arrogance.'

'Your human history books tell you that,' she said, closing her eyes before he could discern whether she'd paid him a compliment or attempted to further excuse Yamamoto. He was tempted to remind her that he'd obtained his books from within Sereitei, and that they'd been available all along, but then reminded himself of his own request of not becoming mired in examples and swallowed the retort – he simply stretched his hand out, once more noting how small hers was on his palm.

'So then,' Stark followed, 'if all philosophical constructions – generous ones and cruel ones alike - end up up the creek without a paddle, the fault must lie with the implementation. It cannot be that the constructions themselves are flawed; as you yourself noted, multiple minds are better than one, and there is not a single philosophical idea that emerged as the thought pattern of a single individual.'

'You keep quoting individual names to me,' the woman jokingly reminded; he smiled, feeling inwardly pleased that she'd joined his game.

'Indeed,' he answered, 'but we are philosophizing right now; if I were to sit down this afternoon and transcribe this conversation, I would surely either include some of your points or simply, even unconsciously, go out of my way to disprove them at the expense of others. Whatever the result, it would not be my working alone, it would be both of us, even if you'd never set pen to paper.'

'I'd still have influenced your thoughts,' Unohana nodded. 'Fair enough. Besides,' she shrugged, caressing his arm, 'you do give the impression that the ideas you quote tend to repeat – most likely because they represent the thoughts of their age, but…'

'History itself is cyclical,' Stark nodded.

'So, what do you think goes wrong every time?' she frowned, making him laugh and kiss her forehead. 'I am getting the sudden urge of learning French,' the woman muttered, blushing a little.

'Latin as well,' he pressed; Unohana bent over laughing.

'Any more requests?' she inquired, arching an eyebrow, and turning around to wrap her arms around his neck. He seriously pondered the question.

'German too,' Stark said. 'And once you are done with those – bring me an apple from the pantry…Again with the physical intimidation!' he exclaimed, as she ran her fingers up and down his ribcage, before he could shield himself in any way. 'You are very awful yourself, Madame…'

She set two apples on the table before him, and took a step back, eyeing him in mock disapproval.

'I think,' Stark began, starting to peel one of the apples without rush, 'that all social systems tend to fail because their leaders are inherently human, and inherently flawed. They all hate, they all lust, they are all greedy, they are all afraid and all of them grow arrogant, sooner or later.'

'One can scarcely blame humans for being human,' the woman noted. 'What makes them all frightening is what makes them all beautiful as well.'

'Correct,' Stark noted. 'Still, one might blame _you_ for being all too human, since you do call yourselves Gods. Bypassing that, ahem,' he meaningfully coughed, 'a philosophical construction is just like a mechanical construction. It can only function within certain tolerance limits before all the sprockets fall out of place. Because no entity is perfect, all make compromises on logical constructions, and because thought cannot be held and touched, the tolerance limits of logical constructions are very hard to grasp. One thinks that if one makes one small, easy to understand compromise here – say, decapitate the hated queen, though she has committed no true crime under any law, one will satisfy the crowd and let you enforce the rule of law, post factum. Only, the crowd is not satisfied with the queen, thus, one compromises further and gives them the duchess, and, before one knows it…'

'One finishes by executing the stable boy who actually dared to voice the thought that the hated queen was sometimes a nice woman,' Unohana guessed.

'And thus,' he shrugged, placing all the neat slices of apple aside the duck chest, and gently prompting her to stand off his lap, 'one ends up denying the very basis of what one started off with. Care to pass the sugar?'

Unohana questioningly glanced over her shoulder.

'Sugar?' she asked, letting all her doubt resound in her voice.

'Indulge me.'

He placed the slices of apple on a remote corner of the stove, over soft flame and blindly reached his arm out, in expectation that she would comply with his demand; she did, and so he sprinkled in just enough sugar to cover to bottom of the pan over the apple before passing it back, and letting a drop of water fall over the apple.

'Excellent,' he concluded.

'Really?' the woman asked, looking at him through the corners of her eyes; he nodded so confidently that she had to laugh, and return to his arms as soon as he'd sat down.

'Really,' Stark nodded. 'I hate you,' he unexpectedly said, holding her close, 'I hate all of you. You do not understand the sheer strength of that – if anything, the most I and either of my kind inspired was mild concern. I bet we mostly inspired pity.'

She attempted to draw away for a second, and while he decisively held her close, he felt ready to yield and let her go just as she renounced her pull and settled, biting into the sleeve of his tunic. Not to get away, he thought, but to keep herself quiet. Perhaps because she wanted to listen. Perhaps she wanted to learn.

'But one hates what one fears,' Stark said. 'One overstates punishment for what one does not understand, and while I still do not understand you and Ukitake Jushiro, I understood the man who set himself off in my living room; I fought the same hopeless battle that he was fighting, I was just fighting against a different enemy, who mercilessly crushed me and all I ever loved – it never came to me that I should try to hug Yamamoto while wearing two kilograms of explosives and an overstated version of the Quincy uniform, but…I did enter the house where I spent most of the happy days of my life alone and undefended. I faced the first Adjucha that any of us had ever heard of alone…I too selfishly wished to die, if for nothing else but for ending it all, I also wished to die in such a way that others would give my death some meaning, because I myself could find none…I understood this man. I did not fear him.'

'If nothing else comes of all of the things that I read and dreamed of,' the Primera said, 'if all history and all thought are cyclical and subject to the flaws of humanity, I rationally decided to not act as if I felt fear, where by chance and random nature I did not. That is not kindness – it still is why I allowed Ukitake Jushiro to release in Bankai; that is why I shall not punish the 13th any more than they have already been punished. I shall not execute the stable boy this time around, and I hope that vicious circles can be undone this way – perhaps if I refuse to execute the stable boy, I shall find it in myself to understand how useless executing the queen was. Nothing else is up to me, but at least this…'

He knew that he should have stood and stirred the apple, but the woman in his arms did not move, and he did not want her to.

'Quincy,' she whispered, leaning her head on his shoulder. 'Always looking to break the cycle…No matter which cycle…'

Stark smiled.

'I guess,' he shrugged.

'I never thought that I would find that brave,' Unohana said. 'I think I never understood why my husband cherished your kind so.'

He swallowed dry, simply and unconsciously rubbing her shoulders when he felt she'd begun to shiver.

'I think I do understand now,' the woman said.

'You need to stir the apple.' She remembered, a century of shared loneliness later.

* * *

Up next - Philosophy of a different kind.


	34. Tall Grass

Hi all! We've had an existential crisis, but now we are back, big as life and (almost) twice as ugly. I was meaning IVI :P I am as pretty as ever :D

Thank you for all your kind words in our absence; Akai Angel, Notchka, Davide (heart!), and for all the new good words. We thank you guys for reading and commenting.

Thus, lyrical chapter 34 -

Where Ukitake likes Lilinette, for all the right reasons.

* * *

'You lied to me,' she said; judging by the sound of her voice, Ukitake guessed that she must have been frowning.

'I apologise,' he whispered, not knowing and not truly caring what he was apologising for; if Lilinette thought he was guilty of something, Ukitake distantly thought, he probably was.

His eyelids, just like his chest, felt as if they had been made of lead, and he could only find sufficient strength to open his eyes when he felt she'd knelt by his side. He felt a little twinge of shame when he heard clinking of glass – he hadn't felt strong enough to carry his teacups back to the kitchen, and by now, he assumed he must have been surrounded by quite a few.

'A mess,' he sighed.

'Yeah,' Lilinette answered, sternly glancing down at him. 'Don't worry, tho', you oughta see my bedroom on the best of days. Looks like a fucking tornado's been through, and that's quite an achievement given that I got like three uniforms an' two pairs of shoes…An' at least ya don't eat in bed,' she shrugged. 'D'ya eat at all?'

He honestly tried to recall.

'Guess not,' the girl mumbled. She remained silent for a moment, and despite the fact that he was trying to put all of his energy in keeping his eyes open, Ukitake had to surrender and close them once more. He felt spent, and the tension in his chest hinted at the fact that an attack was looming. He'd had them with increasing intensity over the past week – such bouts normally had kept him bed-ridden for weeks at a time in the past, even when he'd had the kind attentions of Kyione and Sentaro to depend on, and the comfortable space in his own home to rest in. Now, that he had had to painstakingly care for himself during moments when he could barely stand straight, and under the watchful eye of his old friend, the greenish fungus that spread over his ceiling, the days of bed rest had even seemed to make it worse. The exertion of the past few days had drained what little reserves of energy he had left, and, since then, Ukitake Jushiro had felt as if he'd been walking in a nightmare, with very little distinction between the moments when he was actually awake and those when he had simply been lying down wishing for the pain to end and for the descent of peace.

He suspected that he'd been running a fever for days, but he'd had neither the means nor the interest to check it.

'Stark…' he faintly began.

'I…' Lilinette said, at the same time – both decided to let the other speak first, and fell awkwardly quiet.

Her energy stirred in concern.

'How long you been at this?' she asked, putting her hand on his chest, and slipping her fingers under the loosely wrapped fabric of his kimono. He recoiled from the touch, suddenly feeling that it was inappropriate, not for a Hollow, but for a young woman to be so forward, regardless of circumstance…

'Eight days,' he answered. 'It always flares when the weather starts to change.'

_Always,_ he thought, _like clockwork._

'It's alright,' Ukitake said. 'It will pass, and…'

Keen on contradiction, the cough decided that it had given him plenty of warning. He choked and doubled over between the sheets, trying to stifle the attack; Lilinette hesitated slightly, her frown oddly hinging between an expression of anger and an expression of concern.

'Ya OK?' she asked, leaning in. To her surprise, the Shinigami shook his head with panicked speed, still struggling to contain the cough and regain his voice and breath. Perhaps because he'd been fighting to repress it, rather than leave himself prey to the attack and let it run its painful course, the spasms did not let up – for long minutes, she could do no more than helplessly watch a battle they both thought she could not help him win.

_Gods_, the man thought, sensing that red was ominously stretching on the edges of his vision, _why does it have to be like this – every time, every time, precisely when I wish I would not appear so weak…_

By now, Ukitake knew, coughing out loud would be the only way of stopping the spasms before he fainted from lack of air, but the mistake had already been made. He forced himself to breathe, but only drew blood back in his lungs – all the efforts he'd made, from stepping out to answer Stark's summons, to keeping himself standing through the market assembly, to the simple effort of having made tea for himself hours earlier, returned to haunt him as his forces ran desperately dry, and he curled even further, biting at his fingers to keep himself conscious…

Then, the remotely familiar heat of Lilinette's hand descended upon the back of his shoulders, at first with the eerie and hesitant drift of a caress, but then settling decisively over the left side of his ribcage. The pulse of her energy crossed the inside of his chest like a spear; the Shinigami barely had time to feel the sharp stab of pain. He simply and instinctively jolted, spluttering blood on his hand.

It was then, simply, all through.

Both the pain and the cough stopped as if they had never been, and Ukitake breathed in, his body's hunger for air making him ignore his mind's cries for patience – even if an attack suddenly let up, being too greedy with the first few breaths could always bring the onset of another. It was not the case now; sweet, fresh air descended to his lungs and sent life coursing through his veins, allowing the return of clarity.

He straightened and lay back, keeping his eyes closed, and though his chest felt light and warm, he did not have the strength to once more evade Lilinette's touch.

'See?' the girl scolded. 'That's what happens when ya lie.'

'I wasn't lying,' the Shinigami sighed. 'It does pass. After a while…What did you do?' he inquired, feeling across his chest, and hastily retreating his hand when his fingers made contact with hers.

'It's my _metraletta_,' she explained, after a moment of reproachful hesitation. 'My long distance bite, sorta – works the same way as my close range bite. If I'd done that to your head,' she said, 'it would've knocked you out for long enough for me to properly bite ya. Or well, that's what it was designed for, anyways. Not sure it's would've really knocked _you_ out, maybe just made you dizzy or something, but, yeah…Glad it helped. Won't keep forever, an' won't fix the fever.'

Ukitake shook his head, to let her know that the sensation of warmth in his chest, even if temporary, was gift enough. He closed his eyes and swallowed dry. The inside of his throat still felt raw.

'So,' she began, not leaving him time to breathe. 'Ya was planning to die here alone, or what?'

'Weeds don't wither that easily,' Ukitake bravely smiled; he shifted, and shakily lifted himself on his arms, to look about himself – he instantly cringed at the site of stacked teacups and half empty medicine bottles. 'Good Gods,' he muttered, 'I am a slob. You should visit more often,' he joked. 'Might give me an incentive to clean up.'

'No kidding, dude, this place smells like the 12th,' the girl nodded. 'Let's get ya some air…'

She dashed away before he had time to protest and tell her that outside air would either be too cold or too laden with pollen to do him any good – the door, and the two windows were pulled aside in the blink of an eye, and he squinted at the too bright sunlight.

'Ow,' Ukitake faintly protested.

'Grin an' bear it,' Lilinette commanded. 'Bit of sun ain't gonna kill you…Erm,' she reconsidered, shooting a glance over her shoulder and frowning as she saw him in full daylight. 'Or maybe I'm not so sure…D'ya want me to close 'em?'

The worried look on her features spoke plainly enough about how bad he must have looked, and he suddenly felt embarrassed of himself.

'No, please,' Ukitake forced himself to say, feigning a smile. 'Leave them open – you are right, a bit of sun really won't kill me.'

He nonetheless lifted his hand to shield his eyes, and catch a better glimpse of her figure. Lilinette had yet again shot up a few inches, and, the Shinigami thought, unwillingly blushing, her outfit was growing more inappropriate by the day. It was not only the tiny vest – the most obvious source of embarrassing mishaps – but her stockings were beginning to be obviously too tight and pinch just enough to make him take note of the fact that her thighs had filled out, which led to the realization that her hips were no longer as pointy…

Ukitake swiftly looked away, and coughed lightly, inwardly berating himself for looking.

'What?' she asked, propping her fist to her hip.

'Nothing,' he said, taking a deep breath. 'It was kind of you to come.'

'Yeh,' she shrugged, still looking at him in a way he could not quite place – she was worried, he thought, but whatever irritation had resounded in her voice when she had walked in was still present. Lilinette gracefully lifted herself to sit on the windowsill, yet again defying normality and choosing to lean her back on one side and prop her long legs upwards on the other, oddly fitting herself within the window frame.

She looked at her feet and remained silent for a moment.

'Bad week?' Ukitake guessed, not knowing how else to begin the conversation. He pulled the kimono closed over his chest and shakily stood, feeling dizzy at the very first step. Still, he recognized, the weakness was due to the fact that he had been more or less bedridden for the better part of the week; his muscles were only waking up, and he'd barely eaten anything but tea. He would recover soon enough, he confidently lied to himself.

Despite the fact that the room trembled around him, his breath was steady, and there was no sensation of pain in his chest. Well, the Shinigami realized, no sensation at all, but then, beggars could not be choosers, and the relief, artificial as it was, was more than welcome.

He sighed, noticing she was still not answering, then, with mechanical discipline, bent over to start cleaning up, picking up one tea cup after another, and stacking them onto the trey.

'Ya never told me your parents were eaten by Hollow,' Lilinette cuttingly said – the stack of teacups wavered dangerously threatening to fall.

'How…' he frowned, wisely putting the trey aside before turning towards her.

'Hayoto told me,' Lilinette snapped, looking at him through narrowed eyes. 'After he tried to stick me with a pocket knife or some such – was quite funny at the time. Till he told me your parents were eaten by Hollow, when it wasn't funny anymore.'

Ukitake heard her words, but did not have the willpower to process them; hearing his brother's name had stopped all thought, and drowned his heart in cold pain. He slipped to his knees, settling down for fear that his body would yet again choose to betray him precisely when he needed it most.

'He's been found, then,' the Shinigami said. His voice sounded awkwardly neutral to his own ears, and despite the sunlight, cold darkness began to grow in the distant corners of the room.

Hayoto was the only one who had not been arrested. He'd been the only one that was still free – all of the others, Ukitake's brothers, their wives, his sisters and their husbands, their children, all had been arrested and were held in Gods knew what fear and threat. It was only Hayoto that was still out, and could still give hope.

_And he'd been found._

She tilted her head to the side – her long, unbraided hair fell about her figure, catching the sun.

'No,' she said, questioningly leaning forward. '_I_ found him. Or maybe he found me, I don't know, but he fo' sure saved my ass,' she added, without even giving him time to react. 'I would have done a mess of things this week if he hadn't been around, but he was, an' he fixed stuff. Just like you do, erm, fix stuff. He's pretty awesome.' Lilinette concluded; somehow, her voice had not lost its questioning edge.

Ukitake closed his eyes for a moment, not truly hearing her words, but simply trying to find some additional strength, or some additional hope. For the first time in a long while, he could not summon any.

'He always was,' the Shinigami smiled bitterly.

Hayoto had always been the most free spirited and rebellious of the lot; perhaps the bravest of them all, too. There had always been a restlessness about him, which had rendered him unruly as a teenager, and unlike the rest of the siblings, who'd always kept close, he'd always chosen to keep himself to himself – somehow, Ukitake thought, though he had always been the only one amid his brothers and sisters to possess Shinigami level reiatsu, he'd never been able to shake the feeling that Hayoto was the special one.

The one apart.

The one that, for no apparent reason had chosen to run away, from his eldest brother, from all his other siblings, from any semblance of responsibility, and mostly, from himself.

'I spent many years wondering why he hates me,' Ukitake said, not knowing why he had voiced the thought.

'I have a couple of ideas,' Lilinette shrugged, after a second of hesitation. 'They begin with: cuz you're sneaky, and you make it look so fucking easy. Being like you are, I mean. Going through things without letting them touch ya…It's like anything that happens, it's happened to ya before, and you know just how to deal with it. I figure it must kinda suck to grow up in the shadow of that.'

'I never tried…' Ukitake honestly began.

'Not like you do it by choice all the time, dude,' the Arrancar cut him off. 'But you do it, even without wanting to, an' I think it is the latter bit that makes it hard to be around you, sometimes.'

He nodded, understanding what she had meant to say. The sadness did not leave him – the others, he thought, would probably be under house arrest; they were not dangerous to the New Central by anything except their association with him. Hayoto, on the other hand…Last Ukitake had heard of his youngest sibling, before Sereitei had fallen into Aizen's darkness, he'd been an informant and loosely connected agent of the omnitskido; he'd feared for him in the reprisals that had seen most of the Secret Mobile Core and their informants being sought and killed, but somehow, he'd known that Hayoto would be bright and fast enough to disappear in time.

He'd always been adept at that…

'The thought of Hayoto in a cell…' Ukitake whispered, not expecting an answer.

She frowned. 'Ah,' Lilinette said, after a moment of confusion. 'So that's how you think it is, huh.'

The Arrancar looked disappointed. His heart stung at the expression he could not quite read, but a last twinge of hope gave him enough strength to speak.

'You…did not bring him to Sereitei?' he asked, in hopeful disbelief.

'No, I did not bring him to Sereitei, what's that gonna do, ya silly man?' the Arrancar frowned. 'I thought ya liked me better than this,' she said, looking away. 'Now I guess we're settled - at least I know that ya don't and why ya don't, so…'

'Lilinette,' Ukitake said, swallowing dry, and vainly attempting to interrupt. His first thought had indeed been that once Hayoto had been discovered, he would be arrested, but it had had little to do with Lilinette herself. He'd simply guessed that whatever the 3rd had been doing out in Rukongai, they could not ignore old enemies, and that she would be duty bound to detain a wanted agent.

'Well, what?' she bitterly questioned. 'You were supposed to be like, smart an' intuitive an' all that – did ya truly think I'm gonna arrest your baby bro' and give him to Ulquiorra, of all people? But you would, wouldn't ya, because…'

'No,' the man refuted – despite the dizziness, and despite the fact that the sunlight stung his eyes with a thousand needles, he stood and approached the window.

Lilinette's mask was now no more than a three inch wide band, which covered her left eye and disappeared under her hair. The top part and both horns were more or less gone, but her hair waved slightly around the stump of the incomplete one; she'd still not braided her hair, but at least it had stopped growing unevenly, and seemed to have settled on mid-shoulder length. He unwillingly smiled, wondering what Hayoto, who could not sense reiatsu, had made of this creature.

'No,' he repeated, tiredly leaning against the windowsill, and contemplating her childishly angry features with what he guessed was just a hint of the unwilling condescendence she'd just spoken up against. But then, Ukitake thought, biting his lower lip to keep himself from outright smiling, he had seen this expression before, so many times…Mostly before a dinner plate full of green vegetables.

She _was_ angry, he felt – but she was not furious; she was simply and unknowingly seeking confirmation, either for her kind gesture…gestures, he thought, sensing the traces of condescendence in his smile were beginning to fade, or for the fact that she'd truly never treated him with anything less than perfect and painful honesty, and she deemed he'd failed to reciprocate.

'It is not because of that,' Ukitake said, kindly; Lilinette's frown simply deepened.

'Yeh, well, it's gonna have to be a pretty good spin you're gonna put on now.' She said. 'I think I'd even like it better if ya just hated me because I am Hollow and because of what happened to your parents – not sure how much I'd like to learn that after all _I_ said to ya, your first thought would be that I arrested your brother. Would kinda feel like I've wasted my breath here.'

'That assumption had nothing to do with our friendship,' he said, so smoothly and naturally that he surprised himself – he'd managed to surprise her, too, and though she was making an effort in maintaining her frown, the anger in her eye wavered for a second. 'You are a Captain,' Ukitake said, looking beyond her. 'For better or worse…Your duty, therefore, lies in accomplishing your orders – with the long standing witch hunt against omnitskido operatives, I naturally assumed…'

He only realized the mistake when her eye narrowed.

'Ya don't say,' Lilinette noted. 'Omnitskido…'

Ukitake grimaced.

'I am guessing you did not know that,' he sighed.

'It somehow didn't pop up in ten minute conversation more of five of which were wasted when he tried to stab me. But I know for sure now,' she laughed, throwing her head back. 'Ok, that was the awesomely bad lapse right there,' she continued to chuckle. Feeling far less than amused at himself, Ukitake sighed once more, and pressed his palm to his forehead. 'Tis OK,' Lilinette said, somewhat too vigorously patting him on the shoulder. 'Don't change nothing.' She shrugged, when the Shinigami pleadingly looked her way. 'It's actually kinda cool that even you can drop the ball like that,' she giggled.

Ukitake turned his back to her and crossed his arms over his chest – to his surprise, the girl shifted positions and leaned her elbows on his shoulders, letting her long legs fall to either side of his body. He swallowed dry.

'It changes nothing that he was with the previous 2nd, Uki,' Lilinette reassuringly said. 'Just him being your brother would've been enough for Ulquiorra to want him.'

The Shinigami nodded. 'That is why,' he forced himself to continue, 'I thought you would have arrested him. Not because I do not trust _you_, but because I assumed you would consider your mission first and foremost. As…as I would expect from any Gotei officer, and as you rightly should,' he bitterly added.

'Well then, you'll be pleased that I sorta did,' Lilinette said; by the tiny shift in the weight of her elbows on his shoulders, he guessed she'd shrugged. 'My being in Rukongai had nothing to do with your baby bro',' she continued. 'There's been like a load of stuff going on out there – fires and flying rocks and people gutting each other - and Gin, being funny, I s'ppose, sent me and Grimm out to calm stuff down. _That_ was the mission, not getting Hayoto. An' that we did. Without even ripping faces, I might add.'

Ukitake looked over his shoulder in surprise. 'That can't have been Gin's intention,' he noted.

'Not sure,' she shrugged. 'Gin tends not to be _pri…prosc…'_

'Prescriptive?' the Shinigami guessed.

'That,' Lilinette smirked. 'He just said he wanted them plusses quiet, an' keeping quiet. He didn't mention nothing 'bout ripping faces, either for or against. To be honest, even from a mission perspective, arresting Hayoto I think would've been a mistake.'

He turned about and hastily took a step away from the windowsill, not wishing to end up standing between her parted knees – she took little notice of either her position or his hesitation.

'How so?' he questioned. Lilinette shrugged once more, and joined him in gathering the teacups off the floor.

'He's got something going down out there, your baby bro',' she said, not looking his way. 'No clue what it is – maybe some friendly neighborhood constable brigade, maybe something I don't wanna be thinking about right now.'

She shot a surprisingly mature and cutting glance over her shoulder.

'He's certainly making good use of _your_ guys,' Lilinette said, dryly, making his heart skip a beat. 'Point is, though,' she continued, once more looking away, 'that without him, I know we would have ended up having to hurt them plusses…'

'Lilinette,' Ukitake hastily began, 'violence can only spawn more violence – things have never been perfect in Rukongai, but after…after the troubles, and the clan settlement, in all of my five centuries as captain, I have never heard of an open riot in the first ten districts. Such an outburst must have serious causes – if these are not addressed, and brutality is the response…'

'Yeh, dude,' she answered, cutting off the tirade. 'I know. Gimme some credit, eh?'

She took his share of the teacups out of his hands so swiftly that he barely had time to react – by the time that he'd looked up from his empty hands, she'd already placed the dirty cups in the kitchen, and returned. She let herself fall unceremoniously on top of his unmade bed, with her limbs spread in all directions, and making him wince.

'I know ya can't shove your fist in people's faces forever,' she said, crossing her arms under her head. 'Better not to even try it to begin with. Without Hayoto, tho,' Lilinette continued, as Ukitake uncomfortably settled by her side, 'we would have had no chance of doing that. Cuz I don't know what you thought about your precious Gotei, dude, but I'm getting the feeling they weren't quite as popular as you imagined, out in Rukongai.'

'As for us…' she said, shaking her head, and leaving her thought unfinished.

'Yes, I can assume there was no goodwill wasted,' Ukitake said.

She nodded.

'Hayoto and his crew helped us just when things were getting seriously out of hand,' the Arrancar followed. 'I think that arresting him in the immediate aftermath of that would have caused the shit to stir again, and immediately. So, real bad short term idea.'

'I cannot imagine it would have gone over well with your Division, either,' Ukitake said; Lilinette slowly shook her head.

'Nah. They took to him real quick,' Lilinette said, a bitter touch to her smile. 'Must run in the family, eh. If I'd dragged him back with me, I would've undone whatever good me and Grimm did over the past month in a snap. An' in the long run,' the girl sighed, 'still in terms of the mission of the 3rd, having him out there's not a bad idea either. I understand that if I don't know what's going on, I cannot fix anything – but it's hard to know what's going on. Even if we do establish patrols, who's the plusses rather gonna talk to?' Lilinette inquired. 'A Hollow, a Shinigami, or another plus? I dunno about you, but I think the plus got the one up there.'

Ukitake smiled.

'Unexpected creativity in the field of operations,' he chuckled, despite himself. 'The Omnitskido would have loved you…'

'Yeh. Lucky for ya I'm on your side,' Lilinette said, softly, biting her lower lip, and clearly not accepting his words for a compliment.

He looked down at her, hardly resisting the temptation of reaching for her shoulder and knowing that but a couple of weeks before he would not have hesitated. Now, he thought, once more shifting his glance away from her…

'Do you think I did not tell you about my parents so that you would not inherently mistrust me?' Ukitake asked, with a gentle smile.

'May have crossed my mind,' Lilinette responded, pursing her lips.

He looked down at his hands, drew a deep breath, and patiently waited for the young girl to look his way – it took her a few seconds longer than he had expected, but, once she did, the Shinigami lifted his glance to hers, and slowly shook his head.

'No,' he refuted simply.

'Why not then?' Lilinette frowned. 'I mean…Hell,' she breathed, angrily shifting her glance away, 'I think it would've been fair for me to know ya have as much reason to hate me as I do to hate you…'

'Oh, so you are finally making progress on the hate, now?' he inquired, lifting an eyebrow.

'No,' she promptly responded, only noting the trap when it was too late; he offered her a victorious grin. The girl huffed and sat up like a depressurized arc, immediately crossing her legs and glaring at him as if she'd meant to set him ablaze. 'Stop being sneaky - that is totally not fair!' Lilinette exclaimed.

Ukitake tried to subdue his smile, and unconsciously ran his hand over his chest, still bewildered at the lack of any sensation of pain.

'The reason why I did not tell you that my parents were consumed by Hollow,' he said, 'is because you didn't make it spring to mind.'

'Yeah…' she rebelliously began.

'That is all there is,' Ukitake interrupted, kindly but decisively. It was not the tone of his voice, but rather the not sufficiently disguised sadness in his eyes that made the girl's expression mellow, and she lowered her gaze. 'It was six hundred and fifty years ago,' he said, the rising bitterness causing his voice to weaken. He nonetheless willed himself to speak on. 'It was six hundred and fifty years ago, I am not Stark, and you…' Ukitake said, blindly reaching for her hand and squeezing it lightly.

'You did not kill my parents, Lilinette,' the Shinigami concluded, in the same kind, but undeniably decisive voice. 'I have no hatred of you, and the very last thing that your presence, your being, reminds me of, is that day. I did not mean to deceive you. I am sorry that I left you with the impression I had.'

'If anything,' he picked up, 'you remind me of the unexpected joy I found in the world around me.'

'Huh?' she questioned.

'Yes,' he resolutely nodded. 'When I look at you, I don't think of my parents. I think of all of my brothers and sisters, and how much joy seeing them grow up and walk away on their respective paths was – the experience of you started with pain and loss too, but the more I know you, the more you surprise me, and each moment I spend with you is simply discovery and challenge. Even more so because if you were to hate me, I would understand it.'

'I don't…'

'I know,' he shrugged. 'You are not Hollow to me, Lili, and even if you were, I do not hate all Hollow for what happened to my parents; I do not think I even hated Hollow on the day when I found out. It was like a falling tree,' Ukitake whispered. 'Imagine they had been killed by a falling tree. Should I have hated the whole forest, and vowed a vow of eternal destruction and revenge?'

'Ya could have,' Lilinette said, questioningly glancing at him.

'Yes, but the Hollow who consumed my parents had no choice _but_ to fall – this is not judgment either, Lilinette, it is just that Hollow hunger, I imagine, is as inevitable as wood growing weak…'

'Weakness of structure?' Lilinette whispered.

'Nature - decay and creation,' Ukitake refuted. 'You are not weak, by structure. You are in fact far braver, more energetic and far kinder by sheer nature than most Shinigami I know. You were honest to me,' he said. 'I did not think that you having to bear the unjust burden of what others of your kin did to me, personally, was enough reward for me feeling selfishly avenged. I did not mean to cheat. I simply do not see the killers of my parents in you. That is why I thought telling you about my parents was irrelevant. I am sorry. I did not mean to deceive.'

The girl threw him a sideways glance.

'Friends again?' the Shinigami asked; she hesitated and held on to her pout.

'Tell me more of this stuff next time, don't let me guess,' Lilinette said.

'I didn't know you were interested…' Ukitake began, with a small confused frown.

'Yeh, I just hang around here cuz you're a great host,' she answered, smirking in irony. 'Ya didn't even _offer_ tea, this time…kidding, dude,' she laughed, when he automatically started to his feet. Her chuckles receded to a smile, and she warmly glanced his way – his apology and explanation had not been fully accepted, not because of any failure on his part, but because she still felt guilty.

'Friends,' she conceded, looking through him. 'D'ya think…' Lilinette began, her thoughts obviously straying from the subject. She questioningly looked up. 'D'ya think Hayoto…'

He drew a deep breath.

'There was some serious cold there when he told me about your parents,' Lilinette insisted. 'I mean fucking Ulquiorra cold, cut the air with a knife an' nothing left to say - cold.'

'Well, in a sense, you should think that he was far more honest than me on that particular subject,' Ukitake said. 'He _did_ try to stab you…'

'You already stabbed me, dude, see where it got us,' she scolded. His words had nonetheless drawn a smile. 'Maybe I'm making friends with the wrong sort, eh?'

'I have an idea,' the Shinigami said. 'Let's go outside.'

She snorted. 'That's…'

'The best idea I've had all day,' he shrugged. 'Come on, it is rare that I am feeling well enough to brave the wild outdoors – let me take some advantage of your bite.'

Lilinette crossed her arms over her chest.

'Ya dodging the question or just buying time?'

It was his turn to chuckle.

'The latter,' he said, standing up, and heading into the kitchen. 'Let me let you in on a trick of the older, responsible person trade: smart and intuitive are proven to work a lot better if they are not spontaneous,' Ukitake added – her laughter came from somewhere outside, and felt as warm as the sunlight which poured in from all the open doors and windows.

The familiar routine of the boiling water felt real for the first time in days, and he felt in control of his gestures, though, he realized, childishly pinching himself, his chest still felt like a foreign entity. At least it was not a malicious foreign entity, for once, Ukitake thought. He scoured the kitchen for anything that might have resembled sweets, and only admitted defeat once he'd been through every cupboard and found none. It did not much matter, he eerily thought – unlike all of his other siblings, Hayoto had never had a sweet tooth, or maybe he'd denied himself one just because he didn't want to be like the rest.

Somehow, he guessed, Lilinette was much the same.

As he rinsed two teacups, Ukitake briefly berated himself over not asking whether Hayoto was looking well. Whether he'd finally shaved the silly moustache that he'd grown just before he'd left home. Whether he'd gained some weight. Whether, perhaps, he was wearing a wedding ring.

He carried the tea trey onto the porch, and looked over the seemingly empty garden in what, judging by Lilinette's laughter, must have been comical confusion. A second later, the Arrancar sat up from somewhere in the tall grass, some green blades mingled in her hair.

'Well, if you was gonna be brave, be brave to the end,' she prompted, waving him over. 'It's hardly the wild outdoors on the porch, dude.'

Ukitake felt a twinge of panic. 'I can't…' he began, thinking of the cold ground and of the pollen in the air, of all things forbidden, beautiful and dangerous.

'Ya a bleedin' woman?' she asked, looking over her shoulder.

'I'm definitely too old to play chicken,' he muttered, taking a step forward.

'Bullshit,' Lilinette laughed. 'No one's ever too old to play chicken. Told ya,' she added, when he knelt by her side in the grass. Ukitake shook his head at his own foolishness, and drew a deep breath, which he knew he would regret – perhaps not now, when the power of a little monster kept other monsters at bay, but later. The smell of grass was still beautiful.

''cept maybe Stark,' she said, jerking him out of his reverie.

'Excuse me?' Ukitake inquired, with a frown.

'Stark don't ever play chicken,' she clarified – for the first time of the day, the Shinigami felt amusingly empowered and knowledgeable.

'I shall have you know,' he ceremoniously began, pouring the tea, 'that is definitely _not_ the case, and Stark _does_ engage in the occasional game of chicken.'

'Oh ya, cuz…' Lilinette incredulously smirked. 'Cuz now all of a sudden ya know Stark better than I do…'

'That was not my claim,' Ukitake shrugged. 'However – I have engaged in what I could probably simplify as a game of chicken with Stark this week, and I am pleased to say that he did not withdraw.'

'Like?' she smirked.

'Like,' he said, 'I dared him not to deny a good idea just because it was mine. Worked better than I had anticipated,' Ukitake somewhat smugly added. 'You will have doubtlessly learned about his suspension of blanket punishments.'

'Yuh, all expected,' Lilinette shrugged. 'Stark doesn't believe in one fits all kind of stuff.'

'I did not expect that,' Ukitake said, looking over the bright waves of tall grass. 'I do not know what I had expected, but I had not expected he would be that honest with what he is, and where he stands – so, once he instated his policy, I thought I should attempt to reciprocate. Thus,' he chuckled, though the memory of the drowning sensation that walking into Stark's office and braving his reiatsu was anything but amusing, 'I went to him, without summons, thanked him…'

'Oh boy,' Lilinette sighed.

'…and then told him that I have an idea that may prevent further similar attacks. I told him that as long as the Arrancar are clustered in a single portion of the division grounds, they will always be a relatively easy target for such attacks.'

'Fair point,' she admitted, frowning. 'So…'

'So I suggested that after the rebuilding of the barracks he should give some thought to spreading his troop evenly across division grounds,' Ukitake said; he wondered if Lilinette grasped how difficult the suggestion had been – not to come by, but to speak of. Yet, looking to her, and reading the incredulous expression on her features, he guessed that she could well intuit what Stark's reaction had been.

'An' he said _No_ so fast that ya didn't even have time to blink, eh?'

'Indeed,' Ukitake shrugged, 'but, as you may have noted, I too can be a rather stubborn man at points. So, instead of withdrawing, I sat down and asked him to outline what flaws he finds with my suggestion – except, of course, for it being _mine.'_

Lilinette laughed.

'Ok, that _does_ sound like a game of chicken,' she said, and the Shinigami laughed in his turn.

'I told you,' he shrugged. 'Stark put on a brave front, of course, but it is hard to play chicken with a man who has raised six children, including Hayoto – who, I might add, could have been the absolute master of the game, had it ever become a competitive event.'

'He's not simply doin' it to spite ya, ya know,' Lilinette said, looking away, and supposing that she knew how the encounter had ended. 'It sounds like a good idea, but there's stuff…'

'Oddly enough,' the Shinigami said, 'I understand by now that while Stark does not have the 13th to heart, there is no active malice towards them. I know what his main concern with my idea was, aside, of course,' he once more chuckled, 'for it being mine. He cannot control Ggio Vega.' Ukitake said, dryly. Lilinette hesitated slightly, before confirming his intuition.

'Or at least he cannot control Ggio Vega out of arm's reach,' the Shinigami added, somewhat softening his earlier words.

'Yeh,' Lilinette said, letting herself fall back in the grass. 'I got a couple of them as well, had to seriously kick one of 'em the other day, an' they still don't ever learn nothing. They just licked their wounds an' tried to get at me and my Shinigami another way…'

'Your Shinigami?' Ukitake amusedly asked.

'My guys, over at the 3rd,' she answered, not truly grasping the meaning of the question. He did not press.

'Yet,' Ukitake reiterated, 'I pointed he can keep Ggio Vega close, and that it is quite likely that in the absence of a formal leader, Vega's group will not be overly bold. I have observed them, they are quite…'

'Headless,' Lilinette chuckled. 'Yeah, Barragan liked 'em that way.'

'The good part about mixing the two groups is that the natural ratio of the two populations is such that one could achieve a relatively even spread,' Ukitake said, after a brief nod. 'The even spread would assure that the Arrancar do not get bold – I imagine none of them would have the courage to go rampant if they are surrounded by four Shinigami; in equal measure, no single Arrancar would be a target tempting enough to outweigh the risk of harming the surrounding Shinigami households.'

He stopped and took a sip of his tea.

'Sounds like a bit of chance, to me,' Lilinette frowned, lifting her hand to shield her eye from the sun, and look up at him. 'What if you're wrong?'

'I think both myself and Stark have to accept that chance, for the beginning,' Ukitake said, biting his lower lip. 'He…He is a special individual,' the Shinigami added, shifting his glance away from hers, not knowing whether he was trying to disguise his confusion, or a distant remnant of anger. 'Still, he knows all too well that his new policy may be mistaken for weakness, and that people may perceive the lack of a visible hanging axe as permission to try again. I do not think that his Arrancar are as invulnerable as he'd like to make them sound, and he knows that in the event in which an attack of that scale will repeat, he's likely to lose not only face, but quite a few of his troop.'

'I think it helps that he could not care less about any of them,' Ukitake said, coldly, somehow expecting that Lilinette would react to contradict him. She did not, though he gave her ample time.

'Still,' the Shinigami continued, at length, 'I cannot deny that Stark is taking a risk, and even though he continuously leaves me with the impression that he is ground testing some sort of intellectual model, with no genuine attachment to the result, I cannot deny that his actions prove a certain level of wisdom…and even generosity to an extent. If he is ready to take a chance, I feel I must be ready to assume one too.'

'Dude…' Lilinette cringed. 'This can like, royally backfire…If shit like what went off at Stark goes off in the middle of your division grounds…'

'I know,' the Shinigami said, looking down at his hands. 'I can only hope that it will not be the case. In addition,' he added, swallowing dry, 'I also reminded Stark that should the attempts repeat, in the spread out scenario, the attacker would hardly be hailed as a hero. Perhaps not after the first attempt, but certainly not after the second. The support of the people,' he forced himself to say, ' is utterly necessary for resistance of this type to continue – such networks are reliant on their surroundings for everything, from communication to concealment. If they repeatedly strike at the civilians, they will lose that, and will become a greater threat than Stark and Ggio Vega.'

'Why would ya think of that…' she dreamily asked. 'I mean, you're a real nice guy, but I can't imagine you experienced deep pain and loss over a few Arrancar.'

'No,' Ukitake shrugged, 'I cannot say that I did. Yet…It was not only Arrancar that died, Lilinette, and it will not be Arrancar who die if Stark fails and everything is yet again placed with Ulquiorra.'

He remained silent for a few minutes.

'Well?' she inquired.

'Hm?' he perked.

'Did it work?' Lilinette frowned. 'Your game of chicken?'

Despite the fact that his heart felt so cold with worry that even the merry sunlight could not make any difference, Ukitake found the strength to smile.

'What do you think?' he asked.

'I think you're nuts,' Lilinette laughed, sitting up. 'Ya got him to do it?'

'The key to a good game of chicken is seeing the one challenge the opponent can never step away from,' he laughed in return. 'In Stark's case, it's logic – he can make himself impervious to all emotion, but he cannot ignore rational sequences. I do think I made a logically compelling case. He could not deny it without denying himself. Thus…'

Ukitake shrugged, conclusively.

'I think Stark himself was so shocked by my daring that he forgot to renew the house arrest orders,' the Shinigami chuckled. 'It is too bad that I was in no condition to take advantage of that,' he bitterly said, once more lowering his glance to his lap.

'Hayoto…' Ukitake said – Lilinette looked to him, and tilted her head to the side. 'he lost far more than I did, and then of the hill that he lost, he made an insurmountable mountain. You see, Lilinette, I remember my parents…our parents. I remember my father, I remember…not the woman who gave birth to me, but the woman who was my mother in all other ways. I remember them both – I remember their warmth, I remember their kindness, I remember their wisdom and I remember their love of each other and us. Hayoto has none of that; he had to make do with me, and I was a poor substitute for all that he lacked. Of all seven of us, he was the only one who cannot remember his mother's face. _You - _your kind, robbed him of most of it. I robbed him of the rest, I guess.'

'He will probably never be your friend,' the Shinigami shrugged. 'I could say that he is missing a lot, but then, you could respond by telling me how much of Stark _I_ am missing.'

'All wasted breath,' she whispered.

'Maybe,' Ukitake conceded. 'But maybe not. I would like for Hayoto to like you, Lilinette – much like him, you are brave, daring, challenging and above all, honest. In all that you ever do, and all that you ever say. I think he will like you, in the end of all things. But for now, whether he likes you or not does not matter.'

'Not so, dude…' she protested.

'Indeed so,' he affirmed. 'People are like intersecting circles, and sometimes the area where we superimpose is too small, or far too remote from what truly drives us for it to matter. I think,' Ukitake said, 'that you and Hayoto are lucky – neither of you wishes for the plusses in Rukongai to get hurt. All of your other interests may diverge, as even ours do,' he said, shrugging, 'but you and he have solid common ground. As, I am surprised to admit, do I and Stark.'

'I dislike Stark, and he hates me, but we both seemingly wish for the 13th to be sheltered from further harm. To me, it is the point of my survival – to him, it is a logical exercise, but whatever the common ground is, I have gained some faith that he will defend it. I do not need to like him.'

'I can't work with guys I don't like,' Lilinette whispered. 'That's like, too much of an _abstraction_. I can try, but it normally shows, I think I give off the evil vibe…Much like I think I give the good vibe with people I like.'

He offered her a half shrug – yes, Ukitake thought, it must have been so; the thing that was fascinating about Lilinette was the fact that her emotions were always on display. He supposed he'd been lucky enough that he'd never come across the cold side of her personality. Unless, of course, Stark was the pure expression of _that._ Yet somehow, he guessed that the borders between the two manifestations of the Primera were not as neat as one might have liked, and that Lilinette too possessed some cutting edges.

'That's why you're lucky,' Ukitake responded, at length. 'You like Hayoto. Does that change if he does not like you in return?'

Lilinette considered the question for a moment.

'Maybe not,' she answered. 'I dunno. I…'

'You try very hard to make people like you,' the Shinigami finished for her. She shrugged in something that resembled surrender. 'I've noticed that.'

'Yeh,' she admitted with a shrug. 'I think it's mostly because I never start out by disliking people – they gotta do something to me before I start to, an' because I start out by liking everyone, I'm afraid of grudging them if they don't like me back. Like they don't give me a fair shot or something. Did that even make sense?'

'A bit,' he chuckled; the girl lay back in the grass, her hair spread all about her, then raised her arms above her face, looking at her outstretched fingers.

'It's funny,' she said. 'If you look at the sky from this angle, it sort of gives the impression that you're holding it up.'

He shifted his gaze to hers, but did not catch her eye, so he simply looked at her from above, then, against all logic, sighed and lied by her side – Ukitake turned his head, continuing to look at her face. The tall blades of grass cast long illusive shadows over her cheek, but though her features looked dreamy, her steady glance did not. She looked deeply bitter and childishly determined - he'd seen that look before, too…

'It's a nice view,' Ukitake said, looking at the sky in his turn. 'Just remember that it only _looks_ as if you were holding it up, Lili. The weight of the sky, the world, and the decisions that other people make, the feelings they have, are not always on your shoulders.'

He felt sorry when she slowly clenched her little fingers into fists, and let her arms fall by her side.

'Yeh,' she grudgingly said – that tone of voice Ukitake had heard before too, or at least well enough to know that she had neither understood or accepted his advice. The Shinigami sighed and looked back up at the sky.

'I only made it _look_ easy,' he said, distantly wishing that Hayoto could have heard him as well. 'It never actually was.'

* * *

Up next - next week, we promise

Fighting big Hollow is not as easy as it might look, upon the first glance.


	35. Intervention

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your continued attention, and welcome to our next installment, where Lili and Grimm keep their word in Rukongai - as only the two of them could.

One might actually wonder whether the other Hollow might have been less painful.

* * *

The creature opened its mouth to roar, but no sound was heard; still, the windows of nearby houses were blown asunder, and a few unstable huts were shattered as if they'd been made of straw. Hayoto himself was pushed several feet back, and cursed between his teeth.

He did not get much time to recover.

The Hollow, which stood some fifty feet tall, swung its enormous tail into a wide arch, sweeping the roofs off several buildings and sending massive beams flying as if they'd been no more than matchsticks. A few weak Kido exploded from the sides, but did little more than aggravate the monstrous creature into stomping forth, and Hayoto cursed once more. Knowing that there was little else the Shinigami in his troop could do, if they wished to avoid detection, he gestured for his group to split and move alongside the Hollow and surround it.

He saw them move out through the corner of his eyes, but their movement as well as his ability of keeping track of it was hampered by the flying debris – not that it would have made much difference. The Hollow was the largest that had nudged its way in this far, which could only have indicated that the natural barriers were growing increasingly weak, promising that the worse was still to come.

_What next?_ Hayoto thought, clenching his teeth. _Menos Grande?_

A white flare, which notified him that his companions had fully surrounded the Hollow, lit the sky in the distance, and the man cursed again – judging by where the flare had gone up, his men were several tens of feet further away from the creature than he would have liked them to be. He had no idea if the fuses of their explosive charges were even sufficiently long to cover the distance, or if they would burn that far. Still, he had to admit to himself that he would not have liked any of his men to be in range of the Hollow's whipping tail; he considered the distance, the damage, and the creature's towering height once more, then fired a flare of his own.

The attack pattern was never without risk. First, the Hollow had to be immobilised: some thirty hooks, attached to long and sturdy ropes were expertly cast from all around. Despite the distance, they all found their target and sunk deeply into Hollow flesh. The ropes were immediately tightened, and, under their sway, the gigantic creature hesitated in mid step.

Secondly, since the Shinigami had been robbed of their Zanpakutoh, the creature had to be destroyed by physical means. Six or seven darts carrying explosive charges were cast for each one of the hooks that pierced the Hollow's flesh; they whizzed through the air, some falling short, but most finding aim.

The pleasant image of the monstrous thing being at the centre of a network of inescapable, tiny threads lasted little.

Though most of the explosive charges had indeed found aim, their fuses had been too short, much as Hayoto had feared. The strands slipped free of the hands of those who had flung them, and close to a quarter of the thin, spider like webbing of fuses which should have surrounded the creature limply floated down. The fact that the rest were lit made little difference.

A puff of white, choking smoke, and a thin mist of blood rewarded the attempt, but aside for the fact that the Hollow appeared momentarily confused, the effort amounted to nothing. It stood still, with its fanged mouth ajar for a second longer, then, as if the hooks and ropes had meant nothing, it began to turn, dragging all of its shocked and helpless attackers along with it. A few, who had the presence of spirit of letting go of the ropes were simply thrown back, but many others reacted with deadly tardiness, and found themselves hoisted to the air and swiftly turned into prisoners of their own device.

The Hollow needed no more – though the eyes which peered underneath the horned mask were seemingly dull and deprived of intelligence, the thing required no more than predatory instincts, and quickly realized that its sudden movement had offered it an unexpected boon. The men which still grappled the ropes had now been flung so high that letting go had become a danger onto itself; the creature needed to do no more than reach one of its short, clawed arms and gather the ropes, yanking its unfortunate catches even higher.

Hayoto looked up in despair, at a loss for a momentary solution. One of his men dangled along the rope, and had no choice but to let go of it, when the Hollow's claws headed for him at lightning speed – he crashed somewhere below, amid the sharp rubble, and did not stand back up. The others who'd been unfortunate enough not to let go hoisted themselves up, or attempted to dangle away from the Hollow, looking like no more than unfortunate fish wriggling at the end of a hook.

He did not feel the others until it was too late.

'I s'ppose your guys have forgotten how to Shumpo, eh?'

Hayoto spun around, bringing his sword to the ready, but realizing that if it had done nothing against the little honest Arrancar, it would serve him far less against…

_Grimmjow Jagguerjaques._

The name ran through his mind at amazing speed.

_Sexta Espada Grimmjow Jagguerjaques, who was not reputed for being a good guy. Who, in fact, was rumoured to be quite insane._

And, even more worryingly, the Arrancar's stare was clear proof that the rumours of his insanity had not been overstated.

'Tell 'em to _fetch_,' the Sexta growled – it took Hayoto a long few seconds to understand what the newly appeared Arrancar intended. Powerful, unmasked Kido exploded from all around, six rods of lightning capturing the gigantic Hollow's arm, bringing it to a dangerous halt and causing the captured men to dangle dangerously high. 'Dude, ya deaf?' the Sexta shouted.

An uniformed Shinigami – one that was carrying a Zanpakutoh, darted upwards and slashed across the Hollow's back, not injuring it as much as she might have liked, but causing it to turn around in confusion, and expose its side to a powerful shot of fire.

Hayoto did not hesitate; his white flare called his troop to attention. Eye contact with one of his unarmed Shinigami companions and a swift upwards movement of his chin transmitted his intention well enough; before he looked away, Hayoto thought he'd seen the man frown in disapproval, but there was no time for debate.

'They're already here,' he mouthed – the Shinigami clenched his teeth and waved his arm to someone in the distance.

Not a moment too soon.

A gigantic red scythe, surrounded by waves of crimson light, severed the ropes the Hollow still held, causing all of its prisoners to fall helplessly backwards. The unarmed Shinigami moved in from all directions, breaking their companions' falls, in a flurry of energy trails which caused the air to ripple and for the sky itself to appear blurred. The scythe's wielder appeared behind the Hollow, securely catching his weapon, and straightening it just in time to parry the creature's still free arm – the claws, which had seemed so deadly but a moment before, broke along the blade and fell to the side, causing the Hollow to emit another of its silent screams.

Though Hayoto heard nothing, the Shinigami who wielded the scythe bent over, pressing his hands to his temples – the thing's tail swiped wide, hitting him in full and swatting him to the side. Seemingly fascinated with its new opponent, the Hollow turned around in full, ignoring the spells which were being tossed at its scaly back, and took a lumbering step in the direction where the Shinigami had landed, sending a ten foot column of dust and splintered wood into the air.

'Oh, for fuck's sake, Takeshi,' Grimmjow muttered, at Hayoto's side – not taking note of the plus' amazement, the Sexta stepped forth, all but baring his blade, and though he still felt nothing, Hayoto sensed the earth under his feet had begun to tremble.

'Me, me, me, me, me!' a familiar voice shrilled from behind, and Hayoto knew that the only reason why he'd seen Lilinette as she whizzed past him, was that she'd actually slowed down for half a second to give him a triumphant and amazingly wide and toothy grin.

What he saw next was almost beyond words.

The girl's sleek body existed within its contours for a single second longer, before fading to a bright blur and melting into the ground; this time, the feeling that the earth was moving was definite and Hayoto had to struggle for his footing. The uniformed Shinigami darted to the side with such speed that the group of plusses scattered in its turn, out of mere instinct – once more, with not a second to waste.

A wave of bright, golden light rose from the ground, consuming all in its path, and growing taller with each foot it gained; within a second, it was twenty feet tall – within the next, a further twenty, advancing like a single, cutting front, which seemed to cauterize the ground. The gigantic Hollow did not even have time to turn.

The sheet of light shrouded it from all sides; despite the speed, the way in which the golden front clung to the creature's contours seemed as graceful as an embrace, and, for a moment, the Hollow still stood, bathed in glorious, warm radiance.

It was then, simply, all through.

The Hollow melted away, as the golden light receded and began to shrink. There was neither sound, nor turmoil – the creature's contours simply and gracefully morphed, tightened and shortened, losing height but gaining definition, until all lines simply drew together in the shape of Lilinette's familiar, sleek figure.

Colour gradually returned to her contours as she made her way back to Hayoto and Grimmjow, undefined light giving way to pale blonde, rosy skin and electric pink; she stood before them for a moment, taking in Hayoto's unwilling gawk with a touch of condescendence, and propped her hand to her hip, allowing him to behold her in full.

Then, she hit her tiny fist to the center of her chest, and burped.

Hayoto felt feint.

''s like a six outta ten,' Grimmjow remarked, not sparing the utterly shocked man at his side more than a passing glance.

'Dude,' the girl protested, as if the phrase had been the worst imaginable insult.

'Sorry, no metallic echo, and kinda short to boot…'

'Well sorry, but _that_,' she muttered, waving her hand to indicate the place where the Hollow had stood, 'was also kinda small. So, no fair. Heya!' Lilinette said, turning to Hayoto and smiling brightly. 'How's ya doin'?'

There were many responses to the question, Hayoto thought. None of which he could articulate, for the moment.

'Good,' he chose to dryly respond – he frowned in displeasure in the girl's direction. Whatever he'd hoped for, the man thought, realizing that his gratitude at the help he'd just received was by far outweighed by the concern he felt for the fact that his troop had been so readily exposed, was not this. Noting his displeased expression, Lilinette frowned in turn, but her attention span seemed to be that of a butterfly.

'Ya OK, dude?' she asked; Hayoto recognized the wielder of the scythe, and the man who, a couple of weeks back, had made the ill-fated but good hearted attempt at calming the crowd, and welcomed the Shinigami with a more sincere nod.

'Yes,' Takeshi answered, nonetheless rubbing his arm. 'That was very impressive, Lilinette-sama,' he said, giving the girl a small, reflexive bow. Grimmjow reacted before she could enjoy even the scent of victory.

'Yeh, yeh, she's learnin'…' the Sexta muttered. 'Quit buttering her up, she won't get nowhere near proper bad-ass if she ain't motivated…An' you've simply got to be faster on your feet as well. If you get hit, Sonido…fucking Shumpo away, don't stand in the same place wailing an' waiting to get hit the second time…' The Arrancar ended.

To Hayoto's amazement, the Shinigami conceded with a determined nod.

He counted how many of his group were still standing, and allowed himself no more than a second's aggrieved lapse of attention when he noted that the first of his men to let go of the ropes had truly not stood again. His men were now gathering from all sides, those deprived of reiatsu glancing at the two Arrancar in unwilling awe – their amazement, and even the gratitude on some of their faces did not erase the fact that the unarmed Shinigami amid his group were clearly displeased.

Some, Hayoto observed, had already melted back into the background.

No wonder, the man thought, once more frowning in Lilinette's direction. They had spent many months trying to make as little of their reiatsu as possible, and avoiding detection – the fact that they had been ordered to shadow step, and create energy trails that were distinguishable for miles was clearly not to their liking.

'You're welcome,' Grimmjow said, neatly and dryly – the insane gleam in his eyes seemed to have intensified, and Hayoto clenched his teeth, withstanding the Arrancar's unpleasant scrutiny. To his relief, it lasted little, though he cared equally little for Grimmjow's conclusion.

'This guy's _really_ got nothin'' the Sexta muttered, towards Lilinette; the girl shrugged and giggled.

'Told ya,' she answered.

Hayoto exchanged a quick glance with one of his companions – though the gigantic Hollow was gone, the sense of danger was getting increasingly pronounced, as the company of armed Shinigami began to gather. He gave the man a brief nod, and the other did not require further clarification. As if he'd been no more than a passerby observing a situation which did not regard him in the least, the man turned away and casually made his way amid the Shinigami line; though some curious glances were upon him, no one motioned to stop him. Even more, the armed Shinigami of the 3rd division drew aside quickly, allowing all those who wished to leave free passage. Judging by their features, they would even have wished that Hayoto's group was faster in dispersing, and managed to withdraw before the Shinigami would be ordered to stop them.

Hayoto remained solidly planted before Grimmjow and Lilinette, though the one glance he'd caught from Takeshi seemed to point his position was unwise; nonetheless, as long as he held the Arrancars' attention, most of his men would slip away.

'Your assistance is appreciated,' he said, instinctively addressing Takeshi. To his further surprise, the Shinigami frowned lightly, as if he'd been shy in assuming merits that were clearly not his. Neither Arrancar cared.

'…tho' I get a whiff of something familiar…' the Sexta awkwardly said, taking a step closer to Hayoto.

The man tensed – he imagined that the odd, electrical tingle which suddenly overtook him was the sensation of the Arrancar's reiatsu.

He now stood alone amid the armed Shinigami, and alone before the two Hollow; he could thus worry about himself. He had a _smell_, Hayoto remembered; the electrical tingling increased, making him think of all the other things he could not feel, but were undeniably there. If he did have a smell, his thoughts followed, it was probably as poignantly similar to that of his brother as his voice and eyes. His glance once more shot to the side at Lilinette.

If anything, he thought, he strangely expected her to stop the other Arrancar's scrutiny before he was recognized. The girl seemed to be thinking of nothing of the sort, and a thousand silent curses rose in Hayoto's mind.

The Sexta's ears twitched, and he suddenly looked up.

'Them fireworks,' Grimmjow said, mercifully turning away from Hayoto himself, but worryingly taking a deep breath, and looking at the rubble about them. 'I have smelled _these_ before. On Gin, if I recall right?' he asked, in turn looking towards Lilinette.

To Hayoto's shock, the girl nodded, and skipped forward one step.

'A-yuh,' she confirmed, making Hayoto's blood freeze.

So many months of planning, he thought, so many weeks of preparation, coded communication, so much work on behalf of the unknown person within Sereitei who was risking their life to arm them, so many precautions…all undone, in the blink of an eye, because of something _he_ could not even sense, let alone control.

He stole a glance at Takeshi, and the Shinigami tellingly looked away – Hayoto's hand tensed on the hilt of a knife that would be of no use at all.

'Well,' Grimmjow shrugged, fully turning away from the plus, and patting Lilinette on the shoulder, '_you_ handle. If you handle, I don't wanna know about it.'

'Yup,' the girl said again.

'Let's go, Takeshi,' Grimmjow Jagguerjaques ordered, waving his arm; the group of Shinigami drew closer, and none of them, none at all thought to look Hayoto's way. The correct observation about the explosives was of no consequence – neither to the Shinigami, nor to the Arrancar. It merely hung in the air for a further few seconds.

The look of utter incomprehension on Takeshi's features must have mirrored Hayoto's own, but so did the unexpected relief. The Shinigami caught and sustained Hayoto's glance, and gave him a brief, approving nod before turning away to follow his commander – Grimmjow Jagguerjaques must have been exactly as insane as the rumours hinted, for he did not once look over his shoulder. The girl stayed back.

'Was that necessary?' Hayoto asked, not bothering to hide the remnants of his anger. 'You have just exposed…'

'Yeah, it was necessary,' Lilinette answered, taking a step closer to him; she seemed to have grown taller since he'd last seen her, Hayoto observed. She now stood almost as tall as he did. 'That Hollow would've chomped all of you up, and asked for desert. Was lucky that Grimm smelled it from five miles away…'

'That is not what I asked,' he dryly returned.

'I know,' she returned, in an equally dry voice. 'Two things, little Uki,' she added, narrowing her eye, and not caring for the fact that he had just cringed at how she'd addressed him. 'Next time something like that happens,' Lilinette said, pointing behind the man, and at the destruction the gigantic Hollow had caused, 'your guys oughta think of beating it, not of hiding. I think we've just shown you that hiding is useless…'

'That may be a result of _you_ knowing where to look,' Hayoto replied.

Lilinette measured him for a second, and it took all of his trained resolve not to shift under her electric pink gaze.

'Yeah,' she said. 'Ya keep thinkin' that, dude. Second thing is,' she followed, 'I don't hide nothing from Grimm. I thought it was necessary that _you_ knew that. Since I'll be seeing you around, an' shit.'

There was a poignant sense of disappointment when she finally turned away – her group, black kimonos surrounding a single, white uniform, had all but melted into the distance, not walking in any sort of formation, but simply by each others' side. Awkwardly enough, Hayoto thought he heard the echo of laughter; he focused, trying to figure whether he'd heard wrong, and was met with far more than he'd expected – the insane Sexta Espada swung his arm to the side, in masterful imitation of the tail swipe which had caught his Shinigami underling by surprise a few moments earlier. Takeshi dodged desperately out of the way of the Arrancar's arm, and someone in the group loudly remarked that the evasive move would have come in handy in the _actual_ battle. Takeshi's shoulders slumped, and he mumbled something that Hayoto could not hear, but which must have been amusing, for the Arrancar and the other Shinigami laughed out loud again.

Hayoto frowned, finding that he did not like speaking to Lilinette's back.

'You are right. We've got to stop meeting like this,' he said, giving her the freedom to hear him, or simply ignore him; the girl looked over her shoulder, and grinned.

'Dunno, little Uki,' she answered. 'You're the one who thinks he's good at hiding and just keeps getting' caught.'

He did not smile, though he inwardly admitted the quip was justified.

'How do I reach you, in case of need?' he asked, sticking to the strictly useful; he hated to admit it, even to himself, but if Hollow like the one they had just faced would return, his group would have no chance at defeating them. Even if his Shinigami would risk being discovered, they simply did not possess the weapons and the sheer strength to face such large and dangerous a foe.

_And then, if Menos actually cross…_

He gritted his teeth.

'How can I reach you?' Hayoto repeated.

Lilinette pondered the question for a second, and, in the brief silence, Hayoto realized that she was actually considering his circumstances – he breathed in and out, slowly and purposefully, then met and held her glance.

'I have a way into Sereitei,' he said, daring to answer the question she'd been too_ fair_ to ask.

She shrugged.

'Then you got a way to the 3rd,' she said, simply. 'I think you know now you can trust the Shinigami, yeah?'

He nodded, thinking of the way in which the armed members of the Gotei had shifted to the sides, allowing his group free passage.

'They will protect you as much as they can,' Lilinette said. 'They're on your side, in this.'

Hayoto frowned, wondering if she had just said what he had thought he'd heard.

_Your side – the side against Aizen, and, in all fairness, against her._

'That's OK,' she said, trying to smile. 'I know where I stand with you, Ukitake Hayoto.'

'Lilinette-sama!' someone called. 'The Sereitei gate is open…'

'You comin', woman?' Grimmjow shouted.

In the distance, a tall, arched gateway cut a quaint, miniature picture of leafy gardens which lay beyond Sereitei's walls. Hayoto was too far to truly make anything out, but, standing amid ruins and debris, he remembered perfect, cobbled roads, imposing houses, and, above all, the false impression of order and certainty that those in power had done so much to vainly maintain.

Until, he thought, it had crumbled around them all.

'Is Onii-san still coughing?' he asked, between gritted teeth.

'Yeah,' Lilinette answered.

Despite how much she'd grown, the single word made her seem small and helpless, which, Hayoto thought, was only fair. Jushiro's cough had always made _him_ feel small and helpless as well.

* * *

Up next - Our love birds get into a spot of trouble.


	36. Freedom

Hey all - and thanks for your kind words! I somehow have no regret over leaving mainstream Bleach :)

More sweet philosophy over the next couple of weeks, as nothing good ever lasts, I guess...before Aizen finally gets, well, what he'd been looking for all along.

* * *

_Freedom's but another word for nothing left to lose._

_- Janis Joplin_

* * *

His hand slipped off her hip, but remained close; following the unwritten steps of their shared ritual, Unohana turned and snaked her arms around his, leaning her still hot forehead on his shoulder.

She did not want to open her eyes – at least, the woman thought, not yet, not while her body retained the traces of the lingering pleasure, and not a single second before she would have to return her thoughts to painful reality. Stark remained quiet in his turn, doing no more than slipping his fingers through her hair, and gently kissing her forehead.

It was terribly late, but neither cared for sleep, as neither cared to close the Shoji panel which led to the garden, and offered a view of a starry corner of the night outside. She tried to recall the image of the sky while keeping her eyelids stubbornly shut, but failed, just as she failed at using the warm memory of the man's embrace and the scent of his skin to keep her heart from sinking to melancholy.

Finally succumbing to evidence which had been present since the beginning, Szayel Aporro had put a stop to his _experiment_, or, Unohana thought, rolling on her back and finally opening her eyes, at least this particular aspect of it. Regardless of what Aizen had mandated, she had no doubt that the Octava would continue his research in whatever form was allowed to him – somehow, though the thought of what may have eventually emerged from Szayel's tightly sealed private laboratory in the basement of the 12th Division would normally have made her shudder, she could not bring it into focus now.

Stark's fingers slipped from her temple to her chin, but she still did not have the courage to meet his glance – she curled further in, drawing his arm to her chest, and still hiding from a truth that had been chasing them for the entire week, and which they would have to face, come dawn.

_The last week…The last night…_

Her sadness and guilt fed on each other, like serpents chasing each others' tails. She wondered what he felt; outside, the wind fashioned the dark and indefinite shadows of leaves into the outlines of mythical monsters.

Stark brought her hand to his lips.

'I am not too proud to ask,' he said, chuckling as she finally lifted her glance to his. 'Just to get _that_ natural assumption out of the way.' He shrugged and grinned. The words were rewarded with no more than the frail shadow of a smile.

They had not spoken of the experiment's end at all, and, for the first couple of days, Unohana had felt relieved, and almost content to hide from the end in all of the tiny interactions that had made her weeks in the Primera's company so unexpectedly…

_Pleasant?_ She thought, then dismissed the word. It somehow felt insufficient.

Neither of them had uttered a single word on the subject – they had spoken of many other things, they had read, cooked and made love, watched sunsets and sunrises, and fought a battle they both knew they'd lost since the very beginning. Despite the week long silence, she'd understood the first truly heavy sentence well enough. How odd it was, Unohana wondered, how odd that he was so easy to read…

'Do you wish to…' she began, the fear of sounding ridiculous cutting off the question before she could voice its more significant part. She frowned, expecting the man to chuckle, and joke about the fact that _her_ pride was getting in the way; this time, Stark defeated her expectation and simply smiled – there was no trace of sadness in his eyes. There was only warmth, which rendered her heart even heavier.

'I simply do not wish to make things more difficult for you, Retsu,' The Primera said, simply. 'Well…' he reconsidered. '_More_ may be an unnecessary qualifier._'_

Unohana frowned a little, taking in the contours of his face, and wondering why, though they had not changed, she saw them so differently now than on that long forgotten first night; she found the strength to grin, and placed her index on the tip of his nose.

'Are we fishing for compliments?' she asked. Stark grinned apologetically.

'Men require constant reassurance,' he joked, running his fingers over her shoulder, along her arm and them bringing them to her bare hip. 'I would not blame you if this was not difficult,' Stark added kindly. 'I imagine you should be quite happy that it is finally over and Aizen knocked Szayel Aporro back to his senses.'

'Somehow,' the woman answered, swallowing dry, 'I am unsure that it was the case. We barely had four weeks…' she whispered, shuddering at the regretful sound of her own voice. 'I should not be saying that,' she suddenly said, sitting up and half covering her breasts with the sheets. 'I should not even be thinking that…'

'True,' Stark nodded.

He sat up in his turn, but did not touch her – the lack of contact seemed odd, so soon after they'd made love, and bitterly reminded Unohana of their first week together, when he had done all in his power to interact with her as little as possible. She suddenly felt cold.

'How is it,' she began, dreamily glancing outside, to the dark green foliage of the apple tree and to the threatening world which lurked beyond it, 'that you are so good at creating distances, Stark?'

The woman guessed that her voice had carried some amount of reproach, but she did not care to hide it.

'Practice,' the Arrancar said. 'You can think me a coward, if you like,' he softly added.

'No,' she protested – the word had come unbidden, as had the memory of his touch. 'No. A coward would not put his heart…his entire being,' Unohana bitterly corrected, 'on the table before me. A coward would not have been so giving and so open.'

'There are many kinds of cowardice,' Stark responded. 'But, indeed, no, I do not think myself a coward; I simply thought you needed the distance, thus…'

'Thus you promptly withdrew, and left me to face the end alone,' she said, looking over her shoulder; the brief bout of anger was stifled by the short touch of his fingers across her back.

'No,' he answered. 'I am still here, with you. I simply do not wish to make this hard for either of us,' Stark whispered. 'What good would come,' he bitterly chuckled, 'out of me asking if I will see you again? Technically, I doubtlessly shall – I am sure that if Gin, the court jester, does not engineer some casual encounter for his own amusement, then there will be legitimate causes for us to meet. I know I will see you again,' he ended.

'But it will not be this,' she said, unconsciously straightening the sheets.

A stray thought entered her mind, sifting through all others as the wind amid the foliage outside.

'Are you still waiting for _her_?' Unohana asked; oddly enough, she felt no grudge. Just the tiniest, most painful sting of unjustified jealousy. Who was she, the woman berated herself, to ask such a thing? With him, she had been hiding from the world, and even after they'd begun to slowly allow reality into their week long shared dream, all the conversations, no matter how heavy, had been carried in unreal detachment; neither of them had taken inflexible stances, they had both listened to the other – a state which, she understood all too well, could probably only be achieved in total intellectual isolation. Stark had made no secret of his own desire to hide, and both of them had been more fortunate than they had hoped for.

There was no reason for which the world into which they emerged from hiding would have changed. None at all.

'I never know for sure,' the man responded. Beyond the honesty of the words, Unohana felt relieved that he had not taken her question for an attack.

'Would you be able to be as you are, with me, if…'

'If I were waiting?' Stark finished for her. 'Unfortunately, I think so,' he answered, at the end of a second of thought. 'I do not trust in parts, Retsu, and I too have no talent for pretence. It is not an attempt at deceit,' he followed. 'This is the whole of _Stark_ – battle abilities aside, there is nothing of him that you have not seen. You have perhaps seen much more than anyone else has, in a very long time.'

She found the first time she'd heard him refer to himself in third person frightening.

'But I never know if I am still waiting…Halibel thought I was,' he added, softly. 'I probably made her feel it.'

'Halibel? ' Unohana questioned, with a mild frown. 'Tercera Espada…Halibel?'

Stark was taken aback, and the honest confusion on his features, as well as his visible embarrassment when he'd realized his mistake made her laugh.

'I thought it was common knowledge,' the man mumbled, sporting something that oddly resembled a blush. 'It is long over,' he rushed to reassure, with such fervor that Unohana could do no more than laugh harder; she found no threat in the other woman's spectrum, aside, of course…

'Well, I am very glad that I am finding out _now,'_ she managed. 'Else, I might have been…'

She gestured awkwardly about her chest.

'Vaguely intimidated,' she finished.

'She also sports a lovely outer mandible complete with perfect shark fangs,' Stark reminded, clearly struggling for the upper hand – his words curved Unohana's chuckles, but not the amusement in her eyes. It was, she thought, perhaps the first time she had really caught him on the wrong foot. Still, the man's embarrassment seemed almost disproportionate; she turned by half, and caressed his arm; to her surprise, the embarrassment in the Arrancar's gaze morphed into distant sorrow.

'Did you care for her?' she asked.

Stark shrugged.

'I have already told you that I am unable to trust in parts,' he responded.

'What happened?' Unohana queried further, drawing herself closer. She did not apologise for her curiosity, nor rushed to withdraw the question, as she had on other occasions where she'd sensed she'd come too close to some painful truth; it was too late for it now, and, Unohana thought, with a small twinge of rebellion, a man who was so practiced at creating distance did not need her protection.

'Aizen happened,' Stark answered, a bit briskly. 'Perhaps,' he added, in a sigh, 'I am being unfair. In the end of it all, Halibel said I had never truly been with her, and perhaps there is a grain of truth in that. As you have noted, I am very good at creating distances. Though - I fought…for her.' He awkwardly said. 'Not to keep her to myself, but just to _keep_ her, as she had once been. I get stuck in the shape of things past so easily…'

He shook his head, showing that he would say no more, then gently cupped her cheek.

'The reason why I will not ask if you will see me again, _like this_,' Stark said, 'is because I imagine you would like to hold on to the shape of things past as well – I would not think less of you if you did.'

'You do not expect anything that you have said and done during these weeks to have any lasting echo,' the woman said. 'You do not expect that you will have taught me anything.'

'No, I do not _expect_ it,' Stark answered, placing correct emphasis. 'I did and said nothing for your benefit alone, and thus, whatever comes, I know I will feel no regret over my actions. For what it is worth, I hope you will not, either. I told you I am not too proud to ask,' he smiled.

Unohana fully turned around to face him, crossed her ankles and brought her knees to her chest, resting her arms and chin on top of them.

'And no, I am not that detached,' Stark softly added. He scrutinized her features for a few long seconds. 'Did you feel as if I have been…distant?' he asked. 'I did not realize that I was doing it, with Halibel, and I had never truly intended to; I hope I did not do it here, again.'

'No, I did not feel that,' Unohana shrugged. 'I simply felt it now,' she added, 'and resented it a little. Because I am not detached either. The thing that I fear most, at this moment,' Unohana continued, 'is that Aizen did not stop Szayel Aporro's experiment because he suddenly realized that it had no merit. I believe both you and I assumed that from the very beginning.'

'Yes,' Stark nodded.

'So then, why did he stop?' she asked. The Arrancar simply tilted his head to the side, in sign that he agreed with her logic. 'Is this another test? Another game?' Unohana followed.

'He knows you,' Stark shrugged. 'And he knows me; if nothing else, he will have known that I when I do trust, I tend to give a lot of myself. Halibel would certainly have shown him that. The fact that he would assume we would both develop some form of attachment to each other was not far fetched – in truth, it is one of only two possible outcomes. We would either emerge from all this furious, bitter enemies, or…'

'…or not,' Unohana sighed.

Stark's glance grew serious.

'I am not a hedonist,' he said. 'Well, not in anything but food,' he conceded, making her chuckle lightly. 'I would not deny myself a good thing once I have miraculously run across it, either – I am at least that honest. But your fear is mine as well. I actually have no doubt that he is stopping this now because he is reasonably assured that we have formed some sort of bond. My actions would certainly point to that; I have not seen Lilinette in months, I have become far more active than he has ever seen me, and even my axe towards your friend Ukitake and his division has somewhat dulled, if not in sensation, at least in terms of action. Not all of it is your merit,' he grinned, 'but Aizen would certainly be in a position to suspect that.'

'He can only win, after this,' Unohana said, closing her eyes.

'I also only stand to win,' Stark responded, placing his hand on her shoulder. 'It is only you that has everything to lose, here, Retsu. You know that, and I know that. Think,' he whispered, 'of the look on the features of Isane, your lieutenant, if we persisted in seeing each other outside the boundaries of this obligation…'

'I did not lie to her,' Unohana protested, softly. 'I did not truly speak to her about it, but…I certainly did not imply that you were harming me, in any way,' she somewhat rebelliously added, feeling angry at herself. 'I did not…'

She shivered, and he clumsily rubbed her shoulder, as if attempting to warm her.

'You let her think whatever she liked,' Stark said. 'Which is perfectly indifferent to me. I did not grow to care about her opinion, since this started. But you do care.'

'Not to the extent where I would be dishonest,' the woman murmured.

'You've already been dishonest,' the Arrancar corrected.

'And I don't even know why,' Unohana smirked, no longer bothering to contradict. 'I do not know why I was expecting that your actions on the night of the attacks, or the policy change that followed would allow me some opportunity to speak to her about you – I would have thought that either action would have given her some pause or some doubt, but it simply never happened, thus, there was little to no opportunity…'

'I think I have already told you that I neither need nor want you to defend my image to anyone,' Stark said, in a rather cold tone; the woman bit her lower lip in frustration.

'Yes, well, I certainly do not feel like defending your image, either,' she answered, frowning. 'Mostly because I cannot truly see anything to defend.'

'Except for the gigantic hole that lies in place of my heart, and my fashionable fang necklace,' Stark quipped.

'I do not even see them anymore,' Unohana responded.

'Now, well,' he chuckled, 'I have heard of selective deafness being that cornerstone of strong relationships, but selective blindness is utterly new…'

'Stop being awful,' she scolded, not even feigning a smile; Stark laughed, and leaned forward to kiss her forehead.

'You might as well ask me to stop having a Hierro,' he whispered, from up close – the double meaning of the words was not wasted, but she raised her glance to his and did not shy away from the touch of his fingers across her cheek. 'I've told you once, at the very beginning,' Stark said, in the same soft tone, 'that I do not expect you to submit to the new order simply because you've lost the war. All of you made mistakes, that much is true – to me, the very concept of Sereitei was flawed from the very beginning, you committed errors of omission, and errors of tactic, and while I could possibly ask you to admit to those, I would never ask you to utterly surrender all your previous thoughts, and all your previous dreams to _this._'

'If you were to continue seeing me, you would be seen as admitting defeat. Perhaps as committing treason,' he shrugged. 'I do not think you deserve that…'

'But is that what I am doing?' Unohana questioned. 'I do not know what you have been acting at the 13th, Stark, but one initial truth remains: you are still the only one who has not conducted a decimation, and, in truth, both yourself and Szayel Aporro,' she spat, ' have done nothing but try to make this madness workable. Rumours and whispers claim that at the 3rd, the Sexta Espada and your Lilinette are working some form of kind miracle, too. None of you had any obligation to do that; Aizen could have forced us all into submission anyway…'

'If I were to truly submit to something, anything…' she whispered, 'it would not be _his_ order that I would be submitting to. Just a new order.'

'It is very kind of you to make the separation, Retsu,' Stark said, with a surprised frown. 'Yet I have to admit that it is almost too large a logical abstraction.'

'Even for you?' she smiled, in undisguised irony.

'No, not for me, but it will be too far a logical abstraction for many,' he chuckled in turn. 'I think most of yours will never see _us_ as anything but an extension of Aizen's will – we technically are that, since without him, we would not be here. Such delicate, philosophical nuances like the fact that we had our human thoughts before he returned our full human bodies to us will most likely be wasted.'

'Yet, I know that, and sense the delicate philosophical nuance.' Unohana frowned. 'Would I not be dishonest if I were to fall back on the shape of things past, and simply apply the opposite of the selective blindness that keeps me from seeing your Hollow hole and your mask?'

'You'd be dishonest to yourself,' Stark shrugged. 'And to me. But not to Isane, your lieutenant – she is very dear to you, and she deserves your protection. It is my opinion,' he softly added, ' that people hide from delicate nuances because they are genuinely scared of where they might lead – Kotetsu Isane is well within her rights in not wanting to face certain things, and you would be right to avoid forcing them upon her…'

'I have to say I am sorry you are thinking that,' Unohana said. 'Isane is not a child, and she is certainly neither stupid, nor cowardly, nor weak. You speak of her as if she were too simple to grasp certain truths, and I do not like it.'

'I'm sorry,' he apologized, placing his arms around her shoulders and bringing her close; Unohana placed her legs on either side of his body, and gracefully surrendered to the embrace. 'It is not that I think Isane is simple,' Stark whispered, as she leaned her forehead on his chest. 'It is that I cannot forget the fact that since _we_ have arrived, we have caused so much suffering…If nothing else, then the controlled massacre of North Rukongai…'

'You could not have stopped that,' Unohana whispered, closing her eyes.

'I did not want to,' he answered, making her shudder. 'That I cannot forget either,' Stark said, gently tucking her hair behind her ear. 'And,' he followed, 'if _I_ cannot forget that, how could we ask that your poor Isane does?'

'The other thing about logical abstractions,' Stark continued, leaning his chin on the top of her head, 'is that they sometimes make good masks for solid, undeniable truths. Such as the fact that we are enemies, Retsu, and, yourself aside, the warmest feeling I can conjure for any of your people is indifference.'

'No,' she pleaded, in an incredulous whisper. 'No…Still…?' Unohana questioned, looking up. 'There is still nothing, in your…'

'You are trying to conjure an organ I naturally lack,' Stark dryly reminded.

'Then how can it be that through all the things that you say, and all of the things that you do, I feel your heart?' she rebelliously queried.

'Practice,' Stark reminded.

'Then,' she said, not bothering to disguise her anger, 'we could easily turn this around – being with me, out in the world of Aizen's making would be as damaging to your perception of self as to Isane's perception of me. It would then not be her lack of abstraction capabilities that you fear, and not her unwillingness to accept the new, but your own. Not wishing to make this difficult for me would simply be the guise under which you give yourself an excuse to hide _ad infinitum_…'

His unwilling chuckle and incredulous glance did not soften her frown.

'Yes,' she cuttingly said. 'You asked me to learn Latin, once, and I took you seriously. Because I don't do things by half either, and thus far, I have been unable to shut you out simply because the week was done and the door was closed behind me…'

'You actually tried to learn Latin?' he laughed.

'I learned as many quotes as I felt was necessary to impress you,' she furiously returned; Stark's embrace grew tighter, as if to stifle her anger, and though she felt offended at the fact that he was still laughing, and she felt as if her words had slipped by him, she snaked her arms under his, and let the rest of her fury out in a huff. 'You are awful.' Unohana muttered.

'Can I see you again? Outside of this, I mean.' Stark asked.

She did not hurry to answer.

'I am quite scared,' he oddly added, the tremor in his voice somehow making up for the lack of a heartbeat. 'The undeniable truth that I am abstracting from is the fact that I am scared – not of anything that you imagine – of the new, of losing my perception of self…All those fears exist, and carry some weight. Still, the heaviest of them all is that I am scared that I will harm you in some way, lovely woman. I still don't want to do that.'

'I hope you got yourself a new piano.' Unohana responded; she was holding him so tightly that she felt the tension in his arms and chest melt. 'Byakuya will not miss it, I am sure.'

* * *

Up Next - Would you believe it, Halibel makes first appearance.


	37. The Iron Shoes

Good evening :D A light and somewhat bitter-sweet read for tonight, as well as the return of Halibel :)

Hope you enjoy ^^

* * *

_**The Iron Shoes**_

_Seven long years I looked for you._  
_I wore seven pairs of iron shoes._  
_I ate seven loaves of iron bread._  
_I climbed seven iron mountains_  
_until I reached this shore._

_Here, it is always summer._  
_Here, the grass is soft underfoot, plums_  
_and peaches fall sweet and ripe_  
_right into our outstretched hands._  
_We lie at night on sheets edged with lace._

_Why is it I cannot sleep?_  
_I lie on the royal pillows,_  
_the wind of your breath rises and falls,_  
_a sliver of moon travels over the hills,_  
_and I wait for sleep to come._

_When I dream, I am on that road once more._  
_I follow a trail of purpose and will,_  
_my legs are strong, and you_  
_my dear are the moon_  
_on the distant horizon._

_I know iron. I know its weight. Its taste._  
_The rise and fall_  
_of black, black hills._  
_Seven long years I looked for you._  
_Now I'm lost in this gentle green land._

_- Johnny Clewell_

* * *

'I had meant to apologise,' he said, standing with one foot in and one foot out of the doorway.

Halibel lowered her glance to the papers before her, and pondered her response, as well as his hesitation. They had not spoken alone in well over a year, and the last time they had…

'Changed your mind already?' she asked, a few moments later. It was Stark's turn not to hurry with the answer.

'Just lost a bit of nerve,' he said. 'In the end, I am even unsure…'

'That it bears any relevance now.'

The Primera closed the door behind himself, but did not advance; Halibel stood, and walked around her desk, leaning on its side. She turned off the lights.

It was a beautiful, still night; the orchestra of wind and leaves outside heralded autumn amid echoes of summer.

'Do you want to make love?' Halibel asked.

'Yes,' Stark answered, without hesitation, and both chuckled.

The moon veiled itself in a cloud just thin enough to enhance its light; like many other women who chose to do so, it perhaps understood that fascination rarely outlived the mystery which had sparked it.

'What are you running from now?' she asked, kindly.

Stark didn't answer; he sat on the floor, away from the rectangular patch of light that the moonlight cut in the darkness, and looked at the ceiling.

'Did you feel this way, I wonder…' he began, in an uncertain voice – Halibel slinked to the floor by his side, and crossed her legs. 'I have asked Unohana Retsu to continue seeing me,' Stark said, answering her earlier question.

'Do you think she won't, or are you afraid she might?' Halibel laughed.

'Both,' he shrugged. 'Neither.'

He stretched his fingers on the floor, and she laid her hand atop his, as if she'd just casually picked the very same few inches of wood to lean on.

It was odd that the last time that they'd spoken alone persisted in her rational memory, but not in her present thoughts.

'I always knew _you_ did not mean to hurt me,' Halibel said, softly. Stark cringed. 'You have nothing to apologise for.'

'It is odd that I only now understand that I was hurting you,' he replied, then bit his lower lip and looked her way. 'I thought my distances were indifferent to you. Why did you never tell me?'

'I did,' she reminded. 'Repeatedly, I might add.'

She looked to the ceiling in her turn.

'Perhaps I chose to tell you in the wrong way,' the woman shrugged. 'Unhelpful vocabulary, as Szayel Aporro would have it. I will admit to being wrong,' Halibel added, softly.

He drew a deep breath, probably guessing what she was about to speak of, and hoping that she would not. Halibel did not immediately press; if she knew something, anything about this man, she thought, he would come to ask on his own.

'Do you see _her_ often?'

Halibel didn't chuckle, though she found the accuracy of her intuition amusing.

'Yes,' she replied, briefly. Stark questioningly glanced towards her, then hastily looked away. '_She,'_ Halibel continued, recognizing that names were unnecessary, 'is…something entirely new.'

He nodded, and from the frightened brevity of the gesture, she could not truly distinguish whether he was in pain, or he was trying not to cause her any.

'But then,' she added, '_you_ always knew that. You only led me to believe that she is a fabrication of your mind and of your reiatsu. I always thought you had imagined her.'

'You knew, though,' he frowned. 'I told you of my past, and you knew…'

She sighed, and shook her head, only half conceding to his point.

'It was entirely your fault that I could not bring myself to believe you, though. Sometimes you are…' Halibel began, drawing a deep breath, 'the kind of cowardly man that I spent the better part of my human life either running away from or seeking to defeat. Oh yes,' she chuckled to his deepening frown. 'And the mere fact that after we shared whatever it was we shared for such a long time, you still did not realize that should give you pause.'

'I know of your life,' he protested.

'Yes, you do,' she shrugged. 'But I think you memorized some facts, and in so doing you all but lost the meaning. We lived,' she whispered, 'at approximately same time, but in different worlds – growing up, and as a young woman, I thought I cherished men like you. I thought your sort was at least willing to listen…'

'I always was,' he muttered.

Halibel laughed once more. 'Indeed,' she said, 'you did. And judging by your personality, I am sure you gave many a speech in defense of equality in a distinguished but narrow minded all male company…'

'I did,' Stark earnestly protested. 'I never thought of women being anything less, even in that century, even under the glorious rule of kings and church…And don't scowl at me, you are the one who died a Catholic.'

'More or less,' she chuckled. 'Being hanged by a Catholic does not a Catholic make.'

'Never say that to a Catholic,' the man sighed, leaning his head back on the wall. He paused for a moment, to gather his thoughts and his courage. 'So,' he asked. 'Where'd I go wrong?'

'You did and you didn't,' she shrugged. 'Perhaps I am being harsh. I never bothered with men who dismissed me,' Halibel said, softly. 'Looking back, I probably should have paid more attention,' she chuckled, 'but I thought life was too short…Obvious prejudice is easy to face; so easy, in fact, that outward recognition of the prejudice, the kind that you, oh defender of equality and _brotherhood_ offered is all but pointless. All rational creatures should inherently grasp that the creative_ principle_ is neither male nor female, and if they do not, they are even below the status of mindless animals.'

'I say,' Stark incredulously chuckled.

'Do you think that the lion thinks less of his lionesses?' Halibel asked, tilting her head to the side. 'He may mate with more than one, but I doubt he thinks them inferior to each other, or to himself; they too lose sexual interest in him once his biological function is completed, and rather than look at it from the point of view of your sex, and think the lion lucky for having a harem, I would ask you to look at it from my point of view and note that if they lionesses did not hunt, he would likely starve – ironically, because his mane, the great display of masculinity, prevents him from being an efficient killer.'

'Thus, to his _harem_, the lion is powerful patriarch and helpless child at the same time,' she continued, softly, 'and natural instinct preserves this symbiotic cycle because it represents the meaning of all energy. The female is the vessel and the male is the filler, but none can do without the other, and it is only _men_ that choose to regard the passive principle as inferior or derogatory.'

'You too think like that, Stark,' Halibel said, smiling. 'Most men like you I knew thought like that – that the passive is inferior and needs to be overcome, and that females of spirit must be and act like men, in any field, be it intellectual prowess, or physical strength, or sexual conduct, because otherwise, the spirit cannot be seen. This is not emancipation or equality – it is simply a perverse manifestation of male cowardice and selfishness.'

'That is unfair,' Stark muttered.

'Not so,' she frowned. 'I doubt that you ever outright considered the women who shared your bed whores; with your disposition, I am sure you thought they were in some way enlightened, but how many of the women you slept with did you lose interest in, after just one night?'

'I doubt I was emancipating any of them,' he wryly smiled.

'You see?' she shrugged. 'This is what I was speaking of – you took sexual submission as a sign of passivity, immediately felt smug because your mane was bristling, and, your victory scored, simply removed yourself not only of whatever passed for human morality, but also of that symbiotic cycle of natural respect I was mentioning. That is the below animal status I was referring to,' she scolded. 'So do not get coy.'

The man smirked.

'This is what, growing older and coming to know of even men who would listen, I above all disliked,' Halibel whispered, 'their incapacity of recognizing an equal, unless the equal mirrored them precisely. And you, dear Stark, are just that sort. In fact,' she added, the kindness of her voice contrasting the harshness of her words, 'you made me think you are even worse. Because when you could not recognize an equal amid the many you thought you _tried_, you went and created yourself one, out of your apostate Catholic rib.'

Stark withdrew his hand from hers, and crossed his arms over his chest, his entire body language screaming denial.

'Not only that,' the woman followed, 'but it felt as if in _her_ you had created and enforced your hidden notion of male superiority in its most insidious form. She was naturally intelligent, in a manner that was not of your making, so you latched on and enhanced that, and you loved her energy because it appeared so active and _male_. You took advantage of a manifestation of the principle, and shaped it to your will. And then,' she chuckled, 'you left it barren. You never touched her. You made her the ultimate slap in _my_ face, telling my sort of woman, the sort you sleep with, but you never choose as true mate, that both intelligence and energy are acceptable, as long as they are not accompanied by sexual expression. That you are so narcissistic and vain, that you would only truly love a one who is your _mirror_, but may never actually become your _vessel, _thereby insuring that all creation and evolution begins and ends with you.'

'Creation is not only sexuality,' Stark said.

'No,' Halibel replied. 'But the Lilinette of Hueco Mundo could not even think or feel or remember without you…'That's why, for so long, I thought she was nothing but a figment of your imagination, and resented her so,' Halibel concluded, softly. 'If you'd invented her to your liking in her human life, there was no reason why, in the vastness of your reiatsu…'

'I would not invent her again in Hueco Mundo,' he said.

'I thought she was the living manifestation of your prejudice.' The woman nodded.

'She never was,' Stark whispered, returning his fingers to the floor, and to her hand.

'Well, we're both learning that now,' Halibel shrugged. 'I found it deeply surprising that you could bring yourself to let her go…'

'Unsure if that's what happened,' he sighed. 'Completely unsure.'

'I do not know what is in your heart, because you never let me even catch a glimpse,' Halibel said. 'But,' she chuckled, 'even if maybe you did not _de jure_ let her go, you let her go _de facto_. I was truly and pleasantly surprised, and once more, jealous of her. You never afforded me that luxury…'

'I let you go,' he sighed.

'No, you left me with a pile of guilt and poked me from time to time to make sure I don't forget to feel guilty,' Halibel scowled. He sighed again.

'You know what I never liked about the alchemical theory of active and passive principles?' he perked making her chuckle. 'That it is so constraining. To both genders, actually,' Stark quipped.

'Oh dear,' the woman answered, arching an eyebrow.

'It is,' Stark bravely affirmed, fully turning to face her. 'If you think back to its inception, ritual magic from which alchemy stemmed, after ironically being taken over by men, was a form of female liberation from a real world factually dominated by males; in fact, you can argue that it is just as much an attempted form of social control as all other organized religions. Further, that all just like all other organized religion, it is, in fact a form of political resistance, and that the more its tenets became set, the further from the truth it drifted.'

'Which is why it eventually came to be dominated by men,' Halibel pointed.

'I thought you were being passive?' he chuckled, making her laugh, in turn. 'But that is not where I was going,' he reiterated. 'Women have, and you will excuse me, an unholy and self-defeating tendency of claiming stake to the spiritual. Though men run its institutions, organized religion could not have survived without the mass of female worshippers flooding churches and temples. No matter how ridiculously oppressive most religions tend to become, after they drift from the truth and fall into the hands of people who truly use them as means of political control, women continue to worship. En masse. Even when said institutions turn against them; it is not men that groom women into being obedient, quiet and decorative. It is not men that fear female sexuality; as you well pointed, we would be very happy buzzing along the field of many flowers – it is other women, who fear that their bee will buzz away who teach their daughters to fear themselves.'

'Well,' Halibel bit, 'one could point that the responsibility of maintaining human kind to at least animal status must lie _somewhere_…'

'Perhaps' Stark shrugged. 'But I cannot see why you would castrate us of that ability.'

'Because men have proven over and over that they take spirituality and create _institutions_,' Halibel shrugged, in turn. 'You'd rob all things, even faith, of their magic. See,' she scolded, 'that was precisely my point. If you do not recognize a form of intelligence, you tend to dismiss it.'

'Maybe,' he laughed. 'And I'll freely admit that _this_ I don't understand. Do you not hate the people who killed you, in your human life, and the church that caused them to do it?'

She considered the question for a moment, cranking her nose under her visor.

'To tell you the truth, Stark, no,' she shrugged. 'Or at least, not anymore. Frankly,' she bitterly chuckled, 'I am oddly grateful that I got hanged and not burned, that would have not boded well for my…'

She gracefully let her hand drift above the contours of her body, and the man smiled.

'Even then, I hated the men, but not the church itself,' she said. 'There is nothing wrong, _per se_, with the tenants of the Catholic church, and some of the more sophistically inclined of my friends actually tried to marry the alchemical principle with the Bible, with smaller or greater degrees of success,' she wryly smiled. 'I think,' Halibel followed, 'that this is another symbiotic cycle that you don't see. Spirituality is not strong in all…'

'True,' Stark muttered. 'I have none whatsoever.'

'Exactly,' the woman answered, turning to fully face him as well. 'But you will recognize that even on your arena – which is to say, politics and philosophy, policies exist so that the masses are charmed or coerced into following a system.'

'Correct,' the Primera frowned lightly. 'Where are you leading?'

'I am leading to the fact that if you replace _policy_ with _ritual, _you arrive at the need for organized religion,' Halibel said. 'Not all people are spiritual and gather knowledge and wisdom with breath – thus ritual and institutions are needed, to maintain those who are not inherently spiritual rooted into the best part of their nature. Still, just like political systems turn void without the participation of a majority of society, organized religion turns void without actual faith. In this case,' she added, 'the symbiosis assures that a part of the church provides for the structure – the ritual – while the other caters for the actual energy. Neither can do without the other...'

'Aha,' Stark exclaimed, making her jump.

'What?' the woman protested.

'I have you where I wanted you, my beauty,' he laughed, catching a thin strand of her hair, and running his fingers along it. 'You have just given me a very good example of a symbiosis where the active principle, the generator of energy, is the female gender, and where the structure and the vessel are the men. Complete inversion of your active and passive principles,' Stark innocently shrugged.

'Not really,' Halibel smirked. 'You can argue that women are passive principle in tolerating the institutions for the sake of the greater spirituality, and that the _vessel_ is not the structure of one religion or another. Religions vary in practice, but not in basis, and the idea that contains them all is simply…if I were to say faith,' she laughed, 'I would be biased, so I shall say – belief in magic.'

'But why would one need to sacrifice so much of oneself for sheer belief in magic, Halibel,' Stark whispered. 'For the sake of others' magic…'

'There is no others' magic. There is only one kind, and without it, the world and the heart are just an empty shell,' she whispered in return, hoping that he'd seen the warmth of her smile in her eyes. 'That is, I think, why _you _are always so alone…'

Stark smiled bitterly, and leaned back on the wall, remaining silent for a few long minutes; for half the silence, she measured him through half lidded eyes, then leaned her shoulders on the wall in her turn. She knew she must have hurt him, but did not feel that he'd withdrawn into his cold, safe corner. At least not yet.

That too was new.

'Why did you leave me?' he asked, at long length.

'I never left you,' she sighed. 'You, may I remind, were the one who imposed ultimatums and left, closing the door.'

Halibel insinuated her fingers between his, and chuckled eerily.

'See, I could say,' she began, 'that I turned to Aizen because your projection of ideal femininity in Lilinette irked me out of my mind. And it did,' she sternly muttered. 'I could say that I turned to Aizen when I finally understood that your heart is closed, as far as magic and faith are concerned,' she added, in a whisper. 'That is even more true…I only _truly_ gave up on you when nothing could make you believe in _him_, and even though the miracle has been accomplished under your eyes, you still do not believe, Stark…'

'I am still wondering about the cost of this, my beauty,' he said, shaking his head. 'Everything has a bill attached.'

'Faith is for free.' The woman answered; their glances met, and both shrugged and smiled, admitting that there would be no common ground.

'I never left you,' Halibel repeated, gently. 'It is _you_ who cannot share.' She added, bursting into laughter at his sudden frown. 'Even lion prides have two male lions, Stark,' she managed, between chuckles, and the visible effort it took him to breathe out made her laugh even harder.

'Well, that's a confidence building notion,' Stark huffed, in dismay.

'You're hopeless,' the woman warmly declared. 'Aizen…' she began, casting a glance to the side to assure herself that he would still be listening; she renounced the original train of thought.

'Let me make a supposition,' she said, softly. 'If none of this had come to pass, and, in some uncertain future, Lilinette would have evolved as she is now, you would not have left me for her.'

'I would not think so,' he muttered.

'I do,' Halibel shrugged. 'Or, if you did leave me, you would have done so with a crushing sense of guilt, which would have gnawed at both you and her. Because you are narcissistic, and vain, and terribly monogamous…in spirit,' she laughed again. 'You can only love one thing at a time.'

'That is truly the first time I hear that word used as an insult,' the Primera said, in a low huff.

'It is, in sorts,' Halibel answered. 'Because rather than being an expression of belief in something greater, or of sacrifice, in your case it is an expression of egoism. You would never have left me, because you would have thought you would grievously wound me, which would immediately lead you to fear you would be wounded in the same manner. Not true dedication, but a low bargaining coin – if I'm not doing this, you _cannot_ do it either, because you owe me.'

'I loved you,' Stark said, with a frown which only reinforced her point.

'And because of that, you thought I owed you,' the woman said.

'Yes,' he grunted.

'Like Lilinette owes you,' Halibel smirked, expecting that he would not answer; he did not. 'See,' she whispered, almost forcefully keeping his hand in hers, 'this is the difference between a _vessel_ and a _mirror._ One makes you evolve, the other just keeps you drowning in yourself. I've learned a lot from you,' the woman said. 'But all you ever want to do is stop the world from spinning, circumstances from changing…Even if you do not like the circumstances – how long did you hold on to me, in your heart, even after it became clear that the direction in which I wished to evolve was not yours?'

'I don't like you having _faith_ in this man,' he muttered. 'It's not even the man himself, it's…'

'…the base notion of faith that you dislike,' she shrugged. 'I know.'

'It makes you seem like such a brainwashed tool, Halibel, when we both know you are anything _but_ that,' Stark continued to protest. He gazed into her eyes, then lowered his glance and sighed deeply. 'And now,' he mumbled, 'you are going to say that I am yet again dismissing forms of intelligence I do not understand.'

'You can call it instinct, if you like,' Halibel smiled. 'The principle remains the same. I too loved you,' she said, knowing that it was the first time she'd uttered the words, and that it would also be the last. 'But it did not come in a form that you recognized, because I chose to give some of myself to another man.'

'All of yourself,' Stark whispered. 'The essential…'

'I gave him nothing that you wanted, my body aside,' Halibel scolded. 'Well, would you have wanted me to have _faith_ in you?' she laughed to his frown. 'That is what I regard as essential about myself – my belief in magic, my faith. You have no use for it; though you are a leader, you refuse to be followed, and I wanted to have faith. You could not give me that, so should I have amputated my need of having something to believe in, something to sacrifice for, because I owed you?'

'No,' he sighed, caressing the back of her hand with his thumb. 'No.'

'I suspect that both I and Lilinette would not have resented being your crutches so much if you were actually heading somewhere…' Halibel said. 'But you weren't, so you not only relegated us both to objects, you relegated us both to _useless _objects. I hate that in men,' she whispered.

'May I offer an uninformed opinion?' the woman asked, arching an eyebrow.

'You are never uniformed,' Stark brought himself to say, even managing a hint of irony.

'Thus far, Unohana Retsu was a mirror too,' Halibel said. 'She was placed in a situation where she was obliged to follow your lead, and accept you. I guess the fact that she was not following of her own free will made it easier for you to lead…But this woman is no mirror by nature, Stark. If she chooses to continue exploring you, you either have to be prepared for the same heartbreak that you experienced with me and Lilinette, or…'

'Or?' the man tiredly asked.

'…or actually take the journey with her,' Halibel shrugged. 'Fully take the journey,' she muttered, 'not ask her to be your crutch and stand very still, or reluctantly accompany her for three miles, in the hope that she will stop her exploration simply because you want to stop. Some of us cherish our journeys more than we cherish our companions,' the woman whispered. 'I never left you; you stopped, and I simply kept walking.'

'I don't like that,' Stark muttered.

'I know,' she said, leaning her head on his shoulder. 'Were we not about to make love?' Halibel dreamily asked. The arched stream of moonlight had slowly drifted to cover them both.

'I think we already have,' he said, kissing her forehead.

* * *

Up next - Grimmjow, Lilinette and Apache get all business like. Be scared :)


	38. Tsubaki

Hey there everyone, IVI here. Time for us to again pull back a bit and get an outside perspective from yet another of our fabulous OC's.

* * *

The woman cast a worried glance to her husband, prompting him to step forward; it was not because she was generally one who was used to hiding behind him. In better days, Tsubaki Nazaraki thought, the opposite might have been stated as absolute truth, and there had been quite a few quips on how her authoritative nature sometimes caught him on the wrong foot.

Still, since the new darkness had descended, the woman was well aware that her heritage had been the root of all of their troubles – the entire family had been simply lifted from Ugendo, and dragged _here_…Ten months had passed, and Tsubaki was still unsure where she was. She'd not been allowed to as much as catch a furtive glance at the sky.

It was odd, she considered, how changes in circumstance rendered even details like that insignificant – for the first two weeks, she'd been held alone, questioned, and not even allowed contact with her husband and sons. When she'd finally convinced her captors that she represented no danger at all, and that being of the same blood as Ukitake Jushiro did not mean that she shared any of his powers, her husband and her sons had been returned. Though the children had been truly frightened and rattled by the sudden upheaval in their lives, she'd been glad to have them under her supervision, and at least know that they were as safe as anyone could be around _these…_

Whatever they were, Tsubaki thought, stealing a glance at the young human-Hollow before her.

The young blonde one was different from those who insured their every day guard – unlike those, whose masks boasted horns and covered their faces down to their chins, her mask was a single, white band with fiery red imprints, covering her left eye. She must have been one of the higher Hollow, she thought – since the day when she'd laid eyes on the frighteningly pale Cuarta Espada, the thing who had arrested and still held them all, she had not seen another of this kind.

Despite the fact that the Hollow did not look particularly threatening, Tsubaki felt scared.

Had the prison command changed? And if so, the woman queried herself, feeling an icy chill in her spine, would the rules of their imprisonment change, with the new commander?

The Gods only knew what more _these _could take from them – Tsubaki and her family had had their freedom restricted to a single corridor and two small rooms, with barely enough amenities to be distinguished from actual cells; the fact that they had no windows did not even allow her to figure out whether the structure where they were held was above ground or under it. Their single contact with anyone else had been the silent Exequias – she did not even know if the rest of her siblings were similarly held, or if they had been killed…There was not much more, she thought, cringing, in fact, she could think of nothing that would be left to take.

Nothing but their lives.

In hind thought, Tsubaki considered, shuddering despite the fact that she'd promised herself to show no fear, perhaps it was not that the prison command had changed; perhaps, she thought, swallowing dry, something had happened to Jushiro…Something that made holding them unnecessary…Something that perhaps made them unnecessary altogether.

Though, she thought, more intently glancing at the young Hollow, and allowing her childish looks to somewhat dull the quickly rising blade of anxiety, the girl did not look as if she had been about to deliver grim news. In truth, she looked a little bit frightened, in her turn.

How old could she have been? Tsubaki wondered, immediately berating herself for the thought. Even for plusses, the shape of one's body was a poor indication of age. Still, the Hollow did not look much older than Tsubaki's eldest son.

_Fourteen?_ The woman thought. _Fifteen, at most?_

The Hollow noticed the scrutiny, and shifted uncomfortably.

'Uhm, yea,' she said; by the way she fidgeted, Tsubaki could definitely tell her age – not in actual years, but…

The Hollow advanced, and, as if she'd found no words she simply stretched out a rolled in parchment; the paper was of poor quality, and Tsubaki could tell that it was fully covered in writing. But, above all, she recognized the insignia of the twin fishes which was carefully etched on the seal, and hastily took a step back, not accepting it.

'Has something…' she asked, losing her voice to all the horrors her mind had suddenly conjured. It did not matter that reason told her that if Jushiro had indeed been dead, the last action _these_ would do would be to deliver a message on his behalf. It did not matter that the precision of the etching's execution told her her brother was the one who had sealed the parchment. For a moment, nothing much mattered at all.

'Has something happened to my brother?' Tsubaki finished, when the Hollow's outstretched hand did not tremble, and continued to hold the parchment out.

'Oh, no, no,' she rushed to deny – she somehow appeared relieved that she'd been spoken to. 'Uki…er, Shiro is OK, well as much OK as he ever is OK, I guess, but…No, nothing happened.'

'Then…'Tsubaki began, stepping up, and still hesitating to take the parchment, 'why…'

'I…'

The Hollow could not explain herself, and looked frustrated at her inability.

'What is your name?' Tsubaki's husband inquired, in a gentle voice. The woman looked to her side, noting that her husband's voice perfectly matched his smile, and though she could not muster the behaviour in herself, she knew that it was perfectly justified. The creature might have been Hollow, but she was also young and seemingly frightened – there was no better way of addressing a child than kindness.

'Lilinette,' she answered. 'Uh, Primera Espada Lilinette, or half of the Primera, which I guess makes me like Espada zero point five,' the girl chuckled. 'Not that it matters!' she exclaimed, catching herself.

The suspicion in Tsubaki's eyes lingered, and the Hollow lowered her arm.

'I worked a lot to find you,' Lilinette said, softly. 'Ulquiorra is not forthcoming with this stuff, and…'

'What is this?' the woman asked, pointing at the parchment. The anxiety had not fully receded, and, in fact, though she oddly believed that the Hollow was honest in what had regarded Jushiro, she immediately began suspecting something else was at play. Tsubaki knew nothing about the whereabouts of her other siblings, yet, by the fact that the questions she'd been asked during the first two weeks of captivity had centered on Jushiro and Hayoto, she suspected that the little one had not yet been caught. If they had not caught him then, in the initial turmoil, it was quite likely that he'd hidden even deeper, and the New Central had made no progress in finding him.

'A letter,' Lilinette answered. 'I…'

'Why now?' Tsubaki asked, guessing that her voice had sounded harsh, but not truly caring. 'Ten months have passed…'

The Hollow was taken aback.

'We have not been allowed any communication for the past ten months,' the woman reiterated, taking the girl's hesitation as a sign that she had been right. 'Why are we being allowed communication now?'

'Cuz now Uki had a chance to…' Lilinette answered, not expecting to be believed – indeed, she was not.

Tsubaki shook her head and turned away, crossing her arms over her chest.

'You are perpetrating a cruel jest, Hollow,' she said, sadly glancing over her shoulder – she could not bring herself to hatefully stare at one that looked so young, but bitterness had solidified in her chest. 'Even if Onii-san were still alive, the ban on his communications with us would not suddenly be lifted…'

'It took me almost three weeks to get permission,' Lilinette said. 'I ain't done anything like this in my life so, maybe…'

'Would we also be allowed a response?' Tsubaki asked; though her husband had given her an uncertain glance, the harshness in her tone only accentuated.

'If you wanna…' the Hollow shrugged, swallowing dry. 'I'm trying…'

'I know what you are trying to do,' the woman interrupted, in a pained voice. 'If that paper was truly written by Jushiro, I can only imagine what duress you have placed him under – the only reason why we would suddenly be afforded the luxury of communication is that my younger brother is probably still loose. You are attempting to see if there is something I know that your questioning has failed to surface.'

'No,' Lilinette said, softly.

'Which can only mean that Hayoto must be making use of his freedom to stint you in some way,' Tsubaki followed, her words shedding the sorrowful edge, and responding with pride. 'And if that is so, Hollow, I am glad – but I know nothing of his whereabouts. Leave us be; there is not much more you can take from us. At least allow us the dignity of our intelligence.'

The girl bit her lower lip, shifting from foot to foot; at least lying did not come as easy to her as one might have imagined, Tsubaki thought. The notion was too small of a comfort.

'This has been most cruel,' the woman said, simply. 'You may congratulate your superiors…'

Lilinette's eyes narrowed.

'Yeh,' she interrupted, suddenly sounding bitter. 'I can tell you've been in this dump with no news of the world for ten months. Cuz if you had any clue of how Ulquiorra operates, you'd know that if he _really_ wanted to get stuff outta you, devising something like this would likely be his very last choice of method.'

Tsubaki frowned in turn, taking the words for a threat; she swallowed dry, thinking of her children, who were probably huddled in fear in the adjacent cell, but did not look her husband's way before speaking.

'You are the only one among us who can come and go freely,' she said.

'Tsubaki, maybe…' the man softly intervened – she shook her head, and sadly glanced to him.

'I cannot take much more of this,' she whispered. 'That they would hold us and the children _here,_ for so long, and then attempt to play with our heartstrings…'

He nodded, taking her hand, and she heavily leaned upon it.

_Maybe he is dead,_ Tsubaki thought, with unexpected clarity. _Maybe they have truly killed him, and now…_

She sensed the sting of tears approaching, and spun around to face the back of the cell, not wishing to give the Hollow the satisfaction.

…_and now, if they cannot hurt him anymore…_

'Please, leave, Lilinette,' the man said, kindly. 'We do not wish to be rude, but…'

The young Hollow nodded, in something that resembled bitter sorrow, then turned to leave, pulling the cell bars closed behind her – the unconscious gesture added another twinge of fear to Tsubaki's heart – so far they'd been allowed some freedom of movement in the small section of the prison that they'd been allotted, and, as a matter of ritual, they'd sought never to close the cell bars that led to the corridor.

Perhaps it was a signal that things would change, from now on.

The Hollow had all but made it to the end of the corridor on which the two cells lied, and which, Tsubaki thought, would probably mark the perimeter of their freedom for the Gods only knew how long. Then, instead of the sound of the heavily bolted door opening and closing, and of the nightmarish screech of the turning handle which caused the locks to fall back in place, she heard the rails of the cell bars opening once more, and looked over her shoulder, quickly wiping her tears.

Lilinette was once more taken aback by the sight, and minutely inched backwards – her fingers were clenching the rolled parchment so tightly that the sheet had crumpled, and Tsubaki noted, the Hollow's palms must have been sweaty, for the ink had begun to spread through the thin paper.

'I wish that I would find at least one of you who doesn't hate me on first sight,' the Hollow unexplainably said; looking as if she'd been fighting a battle at each step, she once more advanced inside the cell, and decisively placed the parchment on a shabby table in the corner of the room.

'He spent all night writing this letter,' the Hollow bitterly said. 'An' he just wanted to tell you he is so very sorry that you are suffering because of him. Don't read it, if that's what you want.'

She left without a further word, and the lock fell in place; guessing that it was now safe, the two boys rushed back to their parents, and all four huddled on the ragged mattress which passed for a bed.

The parchment, with its beautifully etched seal, its thin paper and its faint, but visible ink stain painfully loomed above them all.

Tsubaki Nazaraki, sister to Ukitake Jushiro brought herself to open it many hours later, once her husband and her sons had fallen asleep, and then, along the imprint of Lilinette's nervous fingers, her teardrops caused the ink to spread even further.

'Hate ta tell you this, kiddo…' Grimmjow shrugged.

'Then don't, eh,' Lilinette mumbled.

'S'gonna happen every time, babe,' Apache said, putting her hand on Lilinette's shoulder. 'They look at ya, but in fact they look _through_ ya. S'all that ever happens.'

Lilinette sighed, and stretched out even further, looking at the sky. She'd always found the sensation of lying on grass funny, especially because taller strands always ended up ticking the inside of her Hollow hole. Today, the girl thought, she hated the sensation.

'Don't wanna ruin your mood,' she sighed, wistfully glancing up at Apache's round face.

She was being selfish, Lilinette thought – after all, Apache and Grimm rarely got to hang during the day, since, when it came to Grimmjow, Halibel tended to be bloody prescriptive about Apache's time.

'It's OK,' Apache laughed, lying back in her turn, and placing her head on Lilinette's stomach, while crossing her feet on Grimmjow's lap. 'He ain't getting tail in the middle of the day, that's fo' sure.'

'Fucking hell, woman,' the Sexta moaned, making both girls laugh.

'Dude, I only hang out here in the day cuz Sun-Sun's driving me up the wall with all of the _stooopid_ paperwork!' Apache chuckled. 'If I see one more requisition form, I'm gonna stuff it up her nose…'

'Then why the hell am I here?' Grimmjow muttered, almost to himself.

'Cuz we're eating and you wanna get tail _later_,' the Tercera Fraccion helpfully clarified; to Lilinette's amazement, Grimmjow sighed deeply, and could think of no scalding reply.

'You guys are sooo funny,' Lilinette laughed in her turn, not missing the fact that despite their verbal exchange, the two had amusedly glanced at each other, and Grimmjow's hand had slipped inside Apache's trouser leg, and encircled her ankle.

'Yeh,' Grimmjow admitted, with a shrug. 'So,' he said, with his mouth full of rice rolls, 'watcha wanna do? An' what did you expect in the first place? Them people have been locked up for like a year now – they ain't gonna like ya.'

'If that was me, I'd prolly rip your hands off,' he innocently admitted.

'Yeah, I guess,' Lilinette admitted, in her turn.

'What's with ya and the woos Shinigami, anyway?' Apache asked, cranking her neck up to catch Lilinette's eye. 'You wanna adopt him or, what? Ain't he like, already cost you Stark?'

The blonde girl shifted uncomfortably.

'The thing I don't get is why we are still keeping them locked up,' she muttered, ignoring Apache's question. 'I mean, where's Uki gonna go?'

'Where'd those Kira and Hisagi go?' Grimmjow asked. 'And where do all of these folks who make our days interesting go – or well, come from in the first place? Ulquiorra ain't got dibs on any of them…'

'Yeh, well,' Apache muttered, clearly venting Halibel's frustration, 'that's prolly cuz the concept of actually doin' shit is foreign to him as a bloody base rule. Pass some of that fish my way,' she said, half sitting up; Grimmjow helpfully placed the wooden trey which held their lunch on the girl's stomach. She picked up a piece of sashimi salmon, dipped it in soy, then held it dangling over her open mouth for a second, in a manner that Grimmjow clearly found deeply erotic.

'Them's dangerous moves, girl,' Grimmjow purred. 'Sashimi sex…'

'Ew, you guys!' Lilinette protested.

The Sexta chuckled, and Apache slowly chewed her food, apparently giving herself time for thought.

'It's the truth, tho',' she shrugged, after swallowing. 'Ulquiorra is good at holding shit…how does Halibel-sama say? Aye, he's good at holding a status quo, which means that shit don't change,' she helpfully clarified. 'Ask him to think o'something new, an' you got him totally swamped.'

'Ain't that the truth,' the Sexta laughed.

'Well, yeah it is – like for instance, we, well, Sun-Sun and Halibel-sama mostly got something going with the 12th where we try to watch what's going in an what's going out of Sereitei trade wise. It's kinda cool, though I wish they didn't make me write in stuff, an' then make fun of me cuz I can't spell…'

'Ya could learn to spell,' Lilinette offered, gaining a glance as cold as Apache had ever given anyone.

'Riiight,' the Tercera Fraccion mumbled. 'Like you's fucking scholars.'

'No, but we got minions,' the Sexta laughed out loud.

'Pff,' Apache huffed, taking another piece of fish from the platter. 'In any event, we been tracking what's goin' in an' what's going out o'Sereitei for ten months now, and my spelling aside, I gotta say it's turning into a cool thing, an' makes our life easier, cuz, for instance, we know when what division gonna run out of what, and we can order stuff when it's needed, without me running around like a headless chicken an' asking people what they want…Or me forgettin' where to put stuff…Wanna avoid the rotten turnip incident over at the 6th ,' she suddenly chuckled.

'No kidding, dude!' Lilinette smirked, remembering the evil miasma that had drifted over Sereitei for two weeks, after Central supplies had misplaced a massive transport of vegetables, leaving it to rot in the summer heat, in some forgotten granary which could only be identified once the smell had gotten bad enough.

'I can't remember all that shit,' Apache apologetically shrugged. 'Before we did this record keepin' crap, I'd even write it down then lose the fucking paper…'

'Don't worry, babe, you're already hot, you don't got to be smart as well,' Grimmjow snickered, earning himself a swift kick in the groin. 'Ey!' he protested. 'Watch the goods!'

'What I was gonna say,' Apache continued, giving him the evil eye, 'is that now there's a record of who is bringing in what that's stretching for ten months. Sure, there's stuff we won't see, but if I was to bring in shit that blows up, knowing that Sereitei's watched like a bomb…he…he,' she chuckled at her own word play, 'I'd prolly try to keep clandestine stuff to a minimum. I mean, chances of getting caught while jumpin' the wall are higher than if you smuggle stuff in in a sack of potatoes.'

'Point,' Lilinette observed, lifting herself to her elbows. 'I didn't think of that…'

'True enough,' Grimmjow shrugged, leaning back against the tree they'd been lying under. 'If one thing's for sure is that Ulquiorra's creepers are all over the place…'

'All over dem walls, but not all over tha place,' Apache responded. 'Where's more shit gonna go down? On a wall, or in a market? So, Halibel-sama thought she could help him, an' told him to have a look at our lists an' see if there's some sort o'…I dunno, stuff that happens again and again…'

'Pattern?' Lilinette helpfully inquired.

'Smart ass,' Apache muttered, poking her tongue out, but not taking offence. 'Like the same guy bringing in stuff within a week of an attack, that kinda crap. An' Halibel-sama was even nice, cuz she went to Ulquiorra first and told him about the list, tho' frankly, he's such a ball buster in New Central meetings that I wouldn't wanna help him at all. Screw him,' the girl spat, setting off Grimmjow's approving and somewhat proud nod.

'An' he didn't want it,' Apache concluded. 'He didn't even wanted after we went to Gin with it – Gin was ready to take it even, but then Ulquiorra got Tousen to say that 'twas too much effort for too little gain, an' that we should just keep blowin' the heads off folk till they chill out.'

'Didn't ya turn out to be the pacifist,' Grimmjow noted, swiping the piece of butterfish that Apache had just dipped in soy sauce, and tossing it in his mouth along with five wasabi beans.

'No, dude, but I'm workin' too hard…' Apache whined. 'Plus, I dunno…'

She dreamily looked at the sky, oddly only closing her brown eye, and letting the soft clouds above reflect in her blue one.

'I don't wanna be chasing stuff that I ain't eating, right?' she muttered. 'I mean people getting their heads blown off is fun enough for a while, after that it's just a fucking loss – I mean, if we're gonna waste'em anyway, why can't we at least eat'em? Sure fed up with fish, eh,' she mumbled, demonstratively picking a piece of tempura off the platter, then smirking horribly as she found it was a dastardly piece of cauliflower.

'An' I don't want Halibel-sama to get hurt,' she said, in a tone of voice that made Lilinette cringe. 'I mean, fuck, man, look what happened to Stark…'

A cold breeze swept over the sunny afternoon, causing the clouds that reflected in Apache's blue eye to swirl.

'What if it had been Halibel-sama? I mean,' she recanted, 'fo' sure she wouldn't have got hurt, but if I was there, or Mira Rose was there or even Sun-Sun…'

Grimmjow looked away, with sudden tension in his Hollow jaw – Lilinette reckoned it was because, as always, he really hated talk of Apache's _mum_ or _sisters_, who did not stomach him in the least; for a moment, it looked like a battle was raging in his teal eyes. His hand still disentangled from Apache's ankle, and briefly swept over her fingers.

'Don't be demotivational, girl,' he said. 'Nothing gonna happen to ya.'

'We can't know that though, can we,' Lilinette whispered.

'Ya both about to go hormonal on me now?' Grimmjow loudly protested. 'So I know an' clear out…'

'Dolt,' Apache giggled. 'Here, have a maki roll and shut up,' she said sitting up, and feeding him. 'Thing is,' she said, taking a deep breath, 'I dunno why Ulquiorra wouldn't even give the idea shot. I mean he's up on Aizen's behind an' jealous of Halibel-sama an 'everything, but he's gotta know that it's a good idea. I think he simply cannot do new shit,' she shrugged.

'Look at all the others,' she huffed. 'You two guys ain't had no incidents; Szayel Aporro's crowd is so peaceful that he makes me think he got drugs on tap out there an' even Stark's made some sort o'peace. Sure, Barragan's still keepin' 'em quiet by takin' their heads, but…wherever the individual shadows have no control, and stuff's down to the Omnistkido, people keep blowin' themselves up cuz' Ulquiorra is just that hateful.'

'The problem is,' Lilinette sighed, 'that no one's ever gonna get nowhere if we just keep taking people's heads.'

'Ha!' Grimmjow exclaimed. 'Ya think so?'

'Ya I think so,' Lilinette snapped back. 'I think Uki must be some sort of ubermensch if he can keep talking to me after we hold his family like we are…'

'He got interest in talkin' to ya,' Apache dryly reminded.

'I know,' Lilinette sighed. 'But…Hell,' she sighed. 'Ulquiorra's got them buried in this dungeon out in the middle of the woods, and they're all just normal plusses. With kids and stuff. That's like fucking over the top. Plus, Uki's never gonna do what Kira did – even without his family, he wouldn't run off and leave his guys to get hurt…'

'…think maybe you're fantasizing a bit, eh?' Grimmjow asked, gently lifting Apache's crossed ankles off his lap, and lying down to Lilinette's right hand side; he looked up, squinting against the sunlight, and extended his left arm in the grass. Apache did not need a second invitation, and settled next to him, with her cheek on his shoulder.

'He ate just too much crap so far to protect them,' Lilinette simply refuted. 'He's not going nowhere…'Sides,' the girl sighed, 'his bros are plusses…Ya don't need to keep them sixty feet below ground to keep an eye on them. By the looks of them, they can't even jump a fence.'

Apache minutely lifted herself from the grass and knitted her fingers on Grimmjow' shoulder, looking over him and to Lilinette.

'That's got you shook up, eh, babe?' she asked, inquisitively narrowing her eyes.

'Yes,' Lilinette said, seamlessly resting her chin on Grimmjow's other shoulder; the Sexta snickered.

'Can't wait till you're all grown up, Lili,' he said. 'Ya girls cuddlin' me will make such an awesome picture in a couple of months…Ow!...the fuck!' he artificially protested, when both girls punched him in unison. 'Rough love!'

'In ya dreams, asshole,' Lilinette huffed.

'Not even there,' Apache warned, smacking him sharply over the head.

Neither of their words had an effect, and Grimmjow continued to chuckle manically to himself; still, he held Apache tighter and the Tercera Fraccion settled, after yet another murderous glare.

'So what d'ya wanna do with them people?' Apache asked, continuing to look at Lilinette over Grimmjow's chest. 'Nobody's gonna agree to let'em go.'

'And no one's gonna give 'em to you, Lili,' Grimmjow said. 'Gin ain't dumb, kiddo,' he added, feeling her tense. 'Plus, Ulquiorra gonna fight tooth an' nail. I say, just chill and forget it,' the Sexta shrugged. 'Dunno, if you're feelin' soft, send them fruit or summat…They ain't gonna thank you, anyway.'

'They're just freaked out of their minds,' Lilinette sighed. 'I know I'd be if I'd spent ten months underground…We could at least keep'em where they can see the sun.'

'He's got 'em all down there?' Grimmjow asked, then whistled in surprise at Lilinette's nod. 'That's gotta be an army.'

'It is, sorta,' the blonde admitted, with a sigh.

Apache frowned, and propped herself up on an elbow.

'How much chance ya willin' to run…How many are they?'

'Five families,' Lilinette shrugged.

'An' all of them with like seven brats?' Grimmjow asked, with wide eyes.

'No, dude, they got like two three kids, those who have kids,' Lilinette answered, with a menacing scowl.

'Hm, five,' Apache mumbled. 'Thing is…'

Grimmjow tilted his head to the side, and glanced at her, frowning.

'What ya thinking?' he asked.

'Well, if you was gonna sell holdin' 'em somewhere else, what would ya sell it with?' the Tercera Fraccion asked.

The Sexta sat up, and picked another piece of fish off the platter, clearly pained by the fact that he'd been asked to perform in his least favourite arena.

'Dunno,' he aggressively mumbled. 'First thought would be that it's not smart to keep'em all together. I think that might work on Gin.'

'Yeah,' Apache nodded. 'The other thing is, like, cost…'

'Huh?' Lilinette chuckled. 'Ya been drinking Sun-Sun's water?'

'I'm trying to help ya here, cut me some slack…' the odd eyed girl sighed. 'I've been looking at numbers so long my mind is broken…an' I don't even know math!'

'S'OK,' Grimmjow hasted to answer, as if the very notion of Apache knowing mathematics had frightened him to the core. He laid back down, and both girls resumed looking at each other over his chest.

'…but tho' I don't really know math, I gotta figure that keepin' all them people down there's gotta cost a bunch, and if not, it's still gonna keep a fuckload of Exequias busy. I mean, ya gots to feed 'em, give 'em cloth and stuff…'

'On the other hand, ya don't really got to watch them,' Grimmjow said. 'Ya lock the door, and you're done.'

'Yeh,' Apache conceded, 'but ya could argue that if you had them on random division grounds, ya wouldn't be doing any extra effort either. I mean, is not like we're busy like ants, 'round here.'

'True that,' Grimmjow sighed.

'So what you guys saying?' Lilinette asked. 'That we pitch to Gin that we take them outta where they're at, and split them among division grounds?'

'That was my thought,' Apache shrugged. 'There's plenty of houses left empty after…yeh,' she said, dispensing with the multiple executions and the exiled Shinigami with yet another shrug. 'Maybe they grow their own food sometimes, so we don't gotta supply for that, and whomever's around can watch them. Ya can even say there's better supervision, since one full Arrancar's gonna be better than five Exequias.'

'The thing that I was thinking, tho' is that you don't get them out of the frying pan an' into the fire, babe,' she added, letting her elbows slip to the side, and leaning her palms on Grimmjow's chest. 'Ya ain't got five friendly divisions…'

'Ain't ya getting a bit ahead of yourself?' Grimmjow smirked. 'I mean, sure, maybe it could fly, but…'

'Thing is, Grimm, if I go with this to Halibel-sama, it's gotta be complete.' Apache said. 'Halibel-sama don't look at unfinished stuff, an' I don't want her to be wasting her time thinking where we put these guys. If I'm gonna ask her to go to Gin, then I gotta have a plan, eh?'

'Stick in the mud,' Grimmjow mumbled.

'Well, no,' the Fraccion scowled, 'is only fair. When I ask Halibel-sama for shit, only thing she wants is that I know why and what I am askin'. So, quit being an ass.'

'Ya girls are boring,' the Sexta sighed. 'But cute,' he sighed once more. 'If we could get Mira Rose to hate me less, we could do like, a pile-up…'

'Dude!' Lilinette exclaimed.

'Eeh…' Grimmjow sighed. 'Right. So we gots five eggs,' he muttered, ' and what…three, maybe four? baskets.'

'Who you thinking of?' Apache asked.

'Us for one,' Lilinette answered. 'I agree Gin's not gonna let me have 'em all, but he's going to let me have one. Then we got the 4th and the 12th , which are awesome safe…'

'An' then we're out,' Grimmjow said. 'Unless you're considering Stark getting one of 'em, but…'

'That isn't any kind of smart,' Lilinette conceded.

'The 1st could work too,' Apache suggested. 'That would make four. How willin' are you to chance that we put one with Barragan?'

'I'd rather not,' Lilinette cringed. 'Not any of the ones with little kids, anyway…'

'Ya could pitch two in one place, tho',' Grimmjow suggested. 'Specially if it is at the 1st .'

Lilinette managed to crack a smile – chuckling, Apache reached over Grimmjow's chest, and caressed her cheek.

'See?' she laughed. 'We get things done, we do…'

The blonde swallowed dry, and let her head slip from Grimmjow's shoulder, and into the grass.

'Halibel's not gonna help me, Apache…It's nice of you to think of it, but…'

''Course she will,' Apache snickered. 'Cuz I'm gonna ask her, and if the askin' don't work, I'm gonna tell her it will piss Ulquiorra off to no end.'

Lilinette nodded, watching the clouds roll above.

'Maybe,' she said, stretching her arms up.

'You got a major crush on this guy, dontcha, babe?' Apache asked; Grimmjow cringed, but did not interrupt.

'I dunno,' Lilinette answered. 'I really dunno.'

Door after door opened before them, and closed behind them, in a mad rush; her arm kept slipping off Yuki's shoulder, as the boy could not keep up the pace and kept stumbling in fright – Tsubaki clenched her teeth and redoubled the strength of her grip, all but carrying him along. Her arm and shoulder were already sore, but she did not let go, nor did she think of asking the Exequias that were pushing them forth to slow down.

After so many months of utter silence from their part, Tsubaki wondered if they were even truly capable of speech.

She was soon proven they were.

They had ascended five different flights of stairs. Even in the rush, she could tell that the structure they had been held in resembled a gigantic beehive of corridors and cells just like the ones they had been occupying. Oddly, she did not see many doors that looked as if they had been intended to be locked; whatever had been previously held here, she thought, must have been allowed a certain freedom of movement within the confines of the building.

It did not change the fact that once they had finally arrived at the topmost level, a gigantic doorway, fitted with equally gigantic locking mechanisms which even spread an eerie, greenish light, clearly showed that the building had always been a prison.

The Exequias stopped, and sheathed the weapons they'd been using to push them forth, and impose the pace. Despite the fact that she could barely feel her arm, Tsubaki held Yuki closer, then found the strength for a faint smile when her oldest son touched her on the other shoulder, and gently prompted her to pass him the satchel she'd been carrying. Tsubaki all but refused – she thought that Eiji was carrying too much already, and the satchel was not truly that heavy.

_A lifetime fit into five sacks_, she thought, cringing. _And not even those are heavy._

She still passed the satchel, understanding that it was the gesture that mattered; in whatever shape, the young man was simply trying to ease his mother's load. Tsubaki found strength in his smile, and finally brought herself to look ahead.

They had been dragged before yet another human-Hollow, who did not seem to be much older than the last one, but had a poignantly different attitude and bearing – the girl had sleek, dark hair, and donned a far more modest outfit than her companion. But for the bone like ridge that rose from her hair, one could scarcely have coined her for a Hollow, as her long dress hid her Hollow hole from view.

The Exequias bowed as one, and Tsubaki drew a deep breath.

_If they had planned to kill us, they would not have made us gather our belongings,_ she once more repeated to herself, as she had all through the transport. Just like the previous hundreds of times when she'd forced the words through her mind, they helped little.

Despite the show of deference from the other Hollow, the humanized one did not look up from the stack of papers she had been reading.

'Are thesse the lasst oness?' she asked, oddly hiding her mouth behind her sleeve as she spoke. Tsubaki could not tell whether the soft lisp she had sensed had been a characteristic of the young one's speech, or simply a question of her voice filtering through the silk.

'Yes, Sun-Sun-sama,' one of the Exequias responded, remaining bowed.

'Nazaraki,' the girl said, finally looking up from her paper.

Her pale, lavender eyes shifted her glance from the frightened family before her to the paper.

'Four,' she nodded to herself. 'Correct.'

She took rapid note of something on her stack of papers, then flipped the first page over, to extract a yellowish envelope, adorned with a brightly green seal.

'I'm booored!' a voice exploded from the side.

The graceful Hollow almost dropped the envelope, and Yuki was so startled that he jumped to embrace his mother.

'You are sso irritating,' the Hollow hissed – and now, Tsubaki thought, it was clear that the lisp was not a question of the silk sleeves.

The gigantic door swung aside as if it had been made of straw, and even though the light of day was dull, showing that the sky had been overcast, Tsubaki shielded her eyes.

'I ain't irritating, I'm standin' in the rain like a muppet,' another young Hollow muttered, approaching from the outside, her hands deeply shoved in her pockets. Her crooked walking stance seemed to denote nothing but aggression, and drew attention to the sharp horn on the top of her head. 'Would ya hurry up?'

'I am proceeding as fasst as iss reassonable,' the one they'd called Sun-Sun answered, regaining her calm. 'I doubt you will be volunteering to retroactively fill in paperss for the Omnitsskido…'

'What is this?' Tsubaki's husband dared, minutely inching forward – as if the man had suddenly gathered an attack stance, the Exequias straightened, and half pulled their swords. Terrified by their reaction speed, and where it might have led, Tsubaki grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back.

'Chill,' the horned Hollow ordered.

To Tsubaki's surprise, the Exequias slipped their swords in their scabbards as quickly and uniformly as they'd began to draw them.

'Nazaraki Kissuke,' Sun-Sun said, for the first time directly glancing at the man. Her gaze was cold, but not aggressive, and bore the same curious undertone as the odd coloured eyes of her companion. 'The conditionss of your detention have been altered. For the besst,' she added, noting that the man had clenched his jaws.

He frowned lightly, and exchanged a quick glance with his wife.

Sun-Sun's reassurance had not sounded false, but oddly rehearsed – as if intuiting the source of the confusion that reigned in Tsubaki's eyes, Sun-Sun shifted her glance to the woman and gave her an unexpected smile.

'All of your brotherss and ssissterss assked exsactly the ssame quesstion,' the Hollow said, hiding her thin chuckles in her sleeve.

'All…'Tsubaki whispered.

The Hollow nodded.

'It is deemed by the New Central that ssince the term of your detention iss unknown, your occupation of the ssingle reiatssu concealing holding facility in Ssereitei iss inefficient ussage,' Sun-Sun shrugged. 'You will therefore be held under housse arrest, at…'

She consulted her papers.

'Third divission groundss,' she completed. 'You'll be exspected to cater for yoursselvess to a certain exstent, but you sshould agree that it iss an improvement over pressent conditionss... Who's ssigning for thesse at desstination?' Sun-Sun asked, looking over her shoulder, and ignoring the disbelief of the family before her. 'Grimmjow or Lilinette?'

Tsubaki's attention sharpened.

'Fuck cares,' the horned Hollow spat. 'Can we just move?'

'Ulquiorra will care,' the other calmly responded. 'It iss very unpleassant to deal with the third divission,' she sighed. 'I never know what name to put on which formss.'

'Fine, let's say Grimm signs,' the odd-eyed girl sighed.

'Oh?' Sun-Sun queried, with a chuckle that sounded distinctly malicious. 'I wassn't aware that he could…ssign hiss name. Very well,' she said, once more scribbling on her paper, and once more extracting the yellowish envelope.

'Your travel and packaging orderss,' Sun-Sun said, holding the envelope out towards the Exequias. One advanced and took it from her veiled fingers, not once straightening his back. 'Nazaraki, party of four.'

The Hollow's voice suddenly turned cutting.

'Make ssure that they reach in four,' she hissed, and though she knew that her reaction would frighten her youngest even further, Tsubaki could not withhold a shudder.

Many things swirled through the woman's mind and heart as they followed the Exequias out and under the grey, overcast sky; none of them were strong enough to gain true substance and overcome the others. Not the sensation that they were being moved around like cattle; not even the fact that in the daze, they must have moved and followed like cattle as well. The Hollow's words simply spun endlessly in her mind.

_All of your brotherss and ssissterss assked exsactly the ssame quesstion._

Could this mean that they were all alive? She wondered, not noticing the heavy rainfall, and simply looking on as Kisuke loaded the five satchels which contained the remnants of their life into a small, creaky wooden cart. Had they all been granted the same treatment?

_Was this all a ruse so that they can take us to our deaths without struggle?_

She swallowed dry, feeling her heart had once more begun to race, and looked over her shoulder to the horned, odd-eyed Hollow, who'd been casually leaning against the large doorframe and gazing at them in undisguised curiosity.

'Why now? Why, after ten months…' Tsubaki questioned, not knowing what else to say, and not truly counting on a response.

'Because your bro' makes friends none of y'all deserve, and because his friends got friends too,' the Hollow answered, sounding slightly angry.

Both the strange vibration in her voice and the meaning of her words was wasted on Tsubaki, and the woman felt too overwhelmed to even truly consider them. The little convoy set in motion, their speed impaired by the muddy forest track. Throughout the journey that might have lasted as little as half an hour, but certainly felt like an eternity, the woman felt as if the world was simply sliding by her. Her heart was beating in her throat, and she felt so terribly cold that Yuki's hand in her own felt incandescent.

None of it was real, Tsubaki felt – not the majestic crowns of trees rolling above, not the lead filled skies…not even the white walls of Sereitei, the cobbled roads and the peaceful houses that lined quiet streets. The little white gate before which they finally stopped felt like the barrier between two worlds.

The Exequias took a step back.

_Now,_ she thought. _They're going to do it, now._

Not knowing what else to do, she reached for Eiji's hand in blind.

The Exequias simply turned and walked away, but the sensation of being afloat and outside of her body lingered until, with hesitant steps, the family made their way through the unknown garden and unto the unknown porch.

Kisuke laughed, and pried her hand away from Yuki's, gently dragging her to the side; Tsubaki followed without hesitation.

'Would you look at that,' he whispered, kissing her temple, and gently coaxing her chin up.

A small, clearly misshaped and overgrown cherry tree bonsai stood on the outside of the unpolished, dark windowsill; a note in childish, uncertain calligraphy hung amid its branches.

_Uki says you'll know what to do with this better than he does._ The note read – and it was only then that Tsubaki melted away from the nightmare, and into her husband's arms.

* * *

Next week, we see how Stark manages with his new and very much unwanted acquisition.

You can be sure only that he will be displeased.


	39. Kazumi

Not dead. Jumped in a glacier lake, ate guinea pigs, drank pisco sours with Scotsmen and vegans and took pictures of Inca ruins on mountain tops. Anyone take a guess where we went? ;)

* * *

'Good day,' the young woman said, looking up from her floral arrangement. She struggled to smile, though she was clearly frightened. 'May I help you?'

In hind thought, Stark reasoned, frowning, he would have been at least polite to knock; the fact that the young woman was a simple plus, and thus could not have sensed him approaching had dawned on him just a second too late. Or perhaps, he thought further, he'd been too angry to care.

Stark had been far less than pleased by the fact that he had received custody of one of his enemy's many siblings; he'd been even less pleased by the fact that his only notification on the matter had been Apache's less than quiet and polite arrival, and the fact that he'd been simply handed receipt papers to sign.

Whether the irony of making him the guardian of _this_ had been Gin's or Ulquiorra's, or even Aizen's, Stark felt more infuriated by it than he'd felt in weeks; Apache had said nothing about what the cause of the unexpected policy change in what regarded Ukitake's family had been, but her silence on the matter had spoken well enough, cutting off any of the Primera's interest for questioning further. It was clear that Lilinette had somehow engineered their relative freedom, and that the situation was either a gigantic mockery, or some sort of a test of his fangs – it was not hard to fathom that the Cuarta, who'd been in charge of the Ukitake family's guard thus far had landed the one blow he could still land when the responsibility had been taken from him.

_He wants to see if I can control myself,_ Stark thought, clenching his teeth, and not knowing whether he'd been thinking of the Cuarta or of Aizen himself.

The unexpected action, which had prompted the sudden and unwanted re-emergence of Ukitake Jushiro in Stark's thoughts, had even left the Primera temporarily deprived of his inner sense of humour – in the end, had he not felt furious enough to walk through walls, Stark might have considered that if the entire thing was indeed a test, it was a test he could not truly fail. Whether he would do nothing to the young woman, and demonstrate restraint, or choose to take the first unapproved snack he might have taken since his arrival in Sereitei, and demonstrate that his teeth were as sharp and hungry for revenge as ever, the Primera could not really disappoint.

Or at least, not disappoint anyone but himself.

_And Lilinette._

The thought had come unbidden, and made him swallow dry, but not caused the anger to recede. It simply made it flare further, and though she could not have sensed anything, the young woman before him cringed, her little fingers threatening to crush the delicate stems of the wild flowers she'd been holding.

'May I…' she whispered, finding more courage than he had expected.

Stark let out a heavy breath, and struggled to focus.

She was breathtakingly beautiful, he noticed, nonetheless finding that the family resemblance was almost too much to bear – she had the same skin tone as her brother, and the same deep, russet eyes; her blonde hair was light enough to almost appear white, and though its tresses were sleek and healthy, the fact that she wore it loose and long enough to reach her lower back gave the eerie impression that she rarely bothered to cut it.

She looked a bit too thin, immediately making Stark wonder if perhaps Ukitake's ailment had been shared, but a further glance at the young woman's face dismissed the idea. Though her skin was indeed marmoreal, she had a healthy blush in her cheeks and her breath was perfectly regular. The sense of etherealness which she radiated came from within, and she looked as if she had been there, but not _altogether…_There was some fear in her eyes, and yet, it seemed to be no more than adrift on the surface of other, deeper thoughts, as if the reality of her situation were somehow secondary to whatever else was happening in her heart.

'Ukitake Kazumi,' he said, in a dry voice.

'Yes,' she nodded, with a shy smile.

_I could extinguish your soul by taking a single deep breath, Ukitake Kazumi. I wonder if your little, frightened energy would be enough to compensate for what your brother has stolen._

'I have come to acknowledge that I have received you as one complete piece,' Stark said, instead.

To his surprise, the woman was not taken aback by the tone of his voice, nor by the fact that he'd spoken of her as if she'd been a sack of potatoes.

'Oh, it is you…' she said; the fear in her eyes floated away, scattering like a pile of soft petals under a gust of warm wind. 'I had thought you would come, but you came a bit earlier than I imagined. I have not have time to finish this,' she added, pushing the tiny, black vase she had been working on towards him. 'I had meant to start on it first, but then I got a bit distracted with all of the others...'

Stark frowned, and looked around for the first time.

The house had been in a terrible state of disrepair – it was not that it was outright derelict, but the rush in which the previous owners had deserted it, as well as the fact that it had stood empty and unlocked for the past few months were painfully obvious. Most of the pieces of furniture that the previous owners had left behind had probably been stolen; those who remained were too shabby to attract even a thief's attention. Aside for the low tea table, and the frames of two cabinets, whose drawers had been yanked out, the room was bare. A thick layer of dust covered everything, and somewhere in the back of the room, the Shoji panel which marked the kitchen doorway was torn clearly from its hinges.

Still, it seemed like the young woman had kept herself busy in the few hours which had passed since her arrival. All sorts of containers, ranging from tea cups to chipped rice bowls, empty bottles and even something that looked like an old shoe had been filled with merry assortments of wild flowers and scattered about the room. The shapes of the arrangements varied so much that it was very hard to notice that she'd had only two or three kinds of flowers to work with – a few were tall and graceful, woven along delicate and carefully selected wooden sticks; others simply floated in clear water, while well others had been fashioned into layered explosions of colour.

'The house was very sad,' Kazumi shrugged. 'So I wanted to cheer it up first.'

She looked up at him, through russet eyes that so much resembled her brother's that the Primera clenched his fists.

'Please, sit with me while I finish,' she said. 'I am very fast.'

'I have only come to assure myself that you are indeed, intact and that I am not signing for damage that I…' Stark furiously began; a mild trace of a frown passed over her features, but did not linger.

'Oh, silly me,' she said, suddenly starting to her feet. 'You are wearing white and have nothing to sit on…'

Without allowing him time to react in any way, Kazumi stood away from her flowers and rushed to rummage through one of the satchels she'd casually flung in a remote corner of the room. She looked over her shoulder and frowned.

'What colour are we missing?' she asked, giving him the eerie impression that she had been talking to the room. 'Maybe, red,' she decided, a second later, pulling a thin, red kimono out of her bags and not caring for the fact that the rest of its colourful and crumpled contents had scattered all about.

She stood, and though her actions left him hopelessly confused, Stark had the time to think that what she was about to do now was distinctly unwise. Clearly not thinking the same, Kazumi robustly shook the piece of cloth straight – the air current caused the dust in the corner of the room to rise in thick swirls, and settle on top of the clothes that she'd just scattered on the floor.

The woman sneezed lightly, then laughed at herself.

'Well, now we are all wearing grey,' she said, with an apologetic shrug. 'But,' she began reasoning out loud, as she carefully folded the kimono around another few pieces of cloth, fashioning it into a square pile, 'if I open all the windows and do that a few more times, all the dust will be gone.'

She placed the oddly comfortable looking makeshift pillow on the opposite side of the tea table, and settled back down; when next she looked up, the smile in her eyes had not vanished, but unexpectedly changed flavour.

'Thank you for letting me stay in this lovely home,' she said, with a little bow.

The Arrancar finally surrendered to his confusion, and shook his head – was she blind, he wondered? The house was barely livable…As if reading his thoughts, Kazumi tilted her head to the side.

'Some people were very happy here, once,' the woman said, softly. 'And it may not look like much now, but I think I will be happy here too. I will not speak to you again until you sit down.' Kazumi concluded, once more beginning to sift through the pile of grass and flowers before her.

And this, Stark thought, feeling that he'd literally begun to seethe with anger, was all too much; he took a step forth, causing the floorboards to squeak and more dust to rise.

'Do you have something to sleep on?' he asked, between clenched teeth.

She did not even look up, indifferent to him as she was indifferent to the reiatsu storm she could not sense. Instead, she carefully aligned a few long stems of grass, and cut them to measure with a dull, rusty knife, leaving Stark to chew on his anger as if he'd been chewing on a piece of ill-cooked squid.

He knew nothing about her, but her behaviour spoke well enough; she was probably one of the younger ones, the Primera thought, and she'd been brought up as quite the princess. Probably groomed for marriage, and never lifting anything heavier than a cup, the apple of her brother's eye and, quite likely, having experienced nothing but adoration throughout her entire existence.

The sort of woman who could not survive more than three hours on her own, and needed three of Lilinette's unfortunate kind just to keep up with the havoc she caused; a sort he knew and thoroughly despised.

'I was speaking to you, Ukitake Kazumi,' he harshly repeated.

_You are not the little princess here._

This time, the woman did look up, and dreamily gazed at him for a few seconds; the pose made her finely chiseled cheekbones and her pale throat look spectacular.

'I hate repeating myself too,' she said, glancing through him – the words struck him unpleasantly, and caught him on the wrong foot. She smiled again, the tiny ironic crinkle in the corner of her pale lips letting him know that somehow, she was truly reading him, and her words had not been a lucky shot in the dark. Without letting him recover, she gracefully gestured towards the makeshift pillow. For a split second, Stark felt furious enough to storm past her and her flowers, ascertain whether the house had anything that could be mistaken for a mattress, and simply walk away, leaving her to succumb to her own incapacity.

He crashed onto the red pillow, without truly knowing why – the woman smiled, meeting and sustaining his gaze. The look in the Primera's eyes was one that would have sent hapless Adjuchas fleeing for their lives, and his growing anger caused his Hollow jaw to tingle unpleasantly. Kazumi simply tilted her head to the side, her glance simply growing questioning.

_You must know what I am,_ Stark thought. _You must know…_

She lowered her glance, and put the grass down, giving up on her work and inherently telling him that she understood her pretence of goodwill was futile. She pushed the unfinished, pretty arrangement to the side.

'I do not even know your name,' Kazumi softly spoke. 'And yet you hate me so…'

'Do you have…' Stark stubbornly repeated, sensing that the gathering of heat in his Hollow jaw was beginning to spread to the gloved fingers of his right hand.

'Onii-san never meant to hurt you,' she followed, not hearing him. 'It is just that sometimes the world is really not very fair. I am sure he is sorry,' Ukitake Kazumi added. 'I am very sorry too,' she said, with a graceful, and confusingly heartfelt bow.

The density of the reiatsu she did not feel caused particles of dust to rise and dance in the air.

'I know you can hurt me,' she said. 'I know that you would like to, but I also know that you won't.'

'That makes one of us, Ukitake Kazumi,' Stark answered.

She laughed sincerely, showing pearly white, perfect teeth.

'You will not let anyone else hurt me, either,' Kazumi said, sweeping certainty in her unfailingly warm voice – Stark felt as if he'd been drowning, and even though his glove was still on, tiny blue particles began rising from the floor and drifting towards his fingers. 'I thank you for that, too.'

'Do you have anything to sleep on?' the Arrancar repeated, sensing that the air around them had begun to writhe with his impotent anger – at the little princess before him, who was just the seventh, insignificant part of a heavy collateral, and who would not be missed by the New Central, at the fact that absorbing her would probably give him less energy than absorbing the floorboards, and, more importantly, at the fact that though he knew how true his previous two thoughts were, he would truly not lift a finger against her. At the fact that she somehow genuinely _knew_ it, not guessed it…At the fact that her gaze was riddled with warm sorrow, rather than fear or concern.

'I could probably use a blanket,' she innocently shrugged; Stark stood away so swiftly, that the grass on the tea table scattered. 'But it is alright for now,' she quickly withdrew. 'It is not yet autumn.'

'Very well,' he breathed, withdrawing from her as if he'd been recoiling from a snake. 'I shall dispatch…'

'A day will come when you will hate me less,' she whispered, lowering her glance. 'But you will always hate Onii-san…I wish you would reconsider.' The young woman said, once more pulling the flowers to the center of the table, and pushing them towards him, in a shy offering.

'What are you?' the Primera asked, shaking his head; the anger in his chest folded upon itself, like a wet shroud, leaving him empty and impossibly helpless. His breath was ragged, and he guessed that his momentous confusion must have shown on his features, yet the young woman before him gave no sign of acknowledging her victory. She simply pondered his question, looking lost.

'I am very grateful,' she smiled, giving him the odd sensation that she did not truly know the answer to what she'd just been asked. 'I am sure I will be very happy here. Unless you punch the porch on your way out,' she added to his hastily turned back, and just as he'd eyed one of the porch pillars with hatred as burning as anything he'd ever experienced. 'The roof is falling apart as is; I am unsure how much it will hold if you crush one more pillar.'

He used his Sonido to get away, but continued to seethe with anger for the next few hours; he nonetheless asked Findor to find the young woman some bed covers, and bring them to her. Only adding to the surreal feeling which seemed to be the stubborn theme of the day, Findor returned carrying the completed flower arrangement, and in such a state of bewilderment that he did not even notice his commander's murderous glare when he sat the flowers down. He was, however, bright and present enough to quickly vanish out of its way when, in the very next second and without any sort of commentary, the vase flew against the wall, and shattered into fine shards, and intelligent enough to quickly leave the Primera alone with his unexplained fury.

It was already dark outside; Stark sat on his couch, and buried his face in his hands. The receipt papers for one Ukitake Kazumi, which he had not yet signed, lay on the floor before him, underneath a single and miraculously intact blue flower.

Once he had signed it, the Primera thought, any harm that he might have caused the young woman, or any harm he could have allowed to come to her would be directly imputable to him. He wondered if anyone truly cared, beyond the questionable political capital his lack of restraint might have gained Ulquiorra. He wondered whether he even cared about _that_.

He gazed at both paper and flower a long time, and perhaps hours passed before he could bring himself to push the delicate blossom away and painstakingly sign the paper.

* * *

Dramah! is almost complete and you should know what that means...


	40. Truth

Yesterday I forgot to post (whoops), today the shinigami fail to notice the global economic crisis and laid themselves off instead of being fired.

What a bunch of morons.

* * *

Isane Kotetsu placed the neatly handwritten parchment on the corner of her captain's desk, then turned away, feeling as if there was nothing to add. She did not rush to leave the chamber, however, and headed for the door with pointed slowness, almost pleading to be stopped.

The sight nearly broke Unohana Retsu's heart.

'Isane.'

The young lieutenant turned once more, and tried to reward her captain's kind smile with one of her own; she did not quite succeed.

'Another one, then?' Unohana asked. Isane swallowed dry, then nodded.

'Who is it now?'

'Eleventh seat Kirigawa,' Isane replied softly.

'I see,' Unohana nodded. 'I see indeed – please, assure that his wages are paid until the end of the month. I shall endeavor that his transfer to his desired Division will go through, and personally wish him…'

The suddenly bitter look in Isane's eyes stopped her short, so she put her writing brush away and tiredly reached for the piece of parchment Isane had brought. The text written upon it had come as no surprise – Kirigawa Kichiro, eleventh seat of the 4th Division of the Gotei had encountered family difficulties that prevented him to continue his duties as Shinigami within the 4th Division itself, and respectfully requested to be a reassigned. Over the past two months, similar letters had landed on her desk with increasing frequency, and following the exact same line; the only marked difference that this one made was the fact that the man had actually been a seated officer, and that, more painfully, he'd chosen not to tender his resignation in person, but rather transmit it through Isane.

It was a bitter moment, Unohana Retsu thought. It marked the fact that her Division was beginning to well and truly give up on her.

All of the others, now fourteen in all, had come to offer their resignations and requests for transfer in person. None of them had asked any questions, and because they had not, Unohana had kept true to herself and Stark, and not offered any.

The conditions of Szayel's experiment had been kept under tight wraps; mostly, Unohana suspected, because open flaunting of such a humiliating and cruel device would have gone in the opposite direction of Aizen's intentions, and actually generated sympathy. In the beginning, the rumours had functioned to the same effect, yet, as the months of the experiment had come and gone, Aizen's will had been done and the whispers had slowly begun to turn malicious. Not all at the 4th, of course; the 12th had had its share of the blame, as had the fact that the two Divisions' history had not always been one of friendship and cooperation. Unohana Retsu imagined that she had never been popular at the 12th – she had, far too often, crossed Kurosutchi Mayuri's plans, and never been quiet about her dislike of the man, as well as his methods. Either the Shinigami, or some of the Arrancar at the 12th must have let slip the fact that Unohana Retsu was not as much of a prisoner to Szayel Aporro's conditions as was initially suspected. Perhaps that, in fact, the only true ordeal of the entire situation had been the repeated gynecology controls she'd been subjected to after each week, and that while evidence of intercourse had been observed, no such thing could be said about any sign of violence.

Maybe, Unohana thought, it was not even necessary to reach that far; her own disposition had not been that of a suffering woman.

When the experiment had officially ended, the entirety of the 4th had probably breathed a sigh of relief. By then, she guessed, the rumours must have gained strength, and the fear that they might have held an inkling of truth must have made all taunts painful.

The day when she'd seen Stark again for the first time must have come as an absolute shock to them all. The Primera had visited her a week after her return, and spent the night in her quarters, though they had not made love – she'd been too frightened, and he'd seemed ill at ease, so they had done little but share the dinner she'd prepared, then spoken of the success of his housing allotment changes, read a little and slept.

Still, his unsuppressed reiatsu must have been noticeable all over division grounds, and both had half regretted their lack of foresight when Isane had taken it upon herself to bring tea, the following morning; the young woman had not entered her captain's quarters. She'd merely deposited the platter in front of the garden door, on the porch – just enough to let them both know that she knew he was there.

Unohana remembered that she had stirred, and that although he was still half asleep, Stark had pulled a few inches away, leaving her time and space to react; it had only been after she'd turned towards him and hid her face to his chest that he'd held her tightly, and kissed her forehead.

_It all is what it is,_ he'd reminded her.

And it was true, Unohana thought. Hiding his reiatsu would have done little but temporarily hide him. The others might not have noticed him the first or second time around, and the implication of attempting to sneak under their sensing abilities might have been that they would not have to do it for long. That they would just be together for a few more times, then dispassionately let go, as soon as their togetherness became a hindrance.

The resignations and requests for transfer had begun to pour in soon after, and though she'd been kind and affable, and done her best to assure that those who wished to leave the 4th would not be disadvantaged in any way, Unohana Retsu had still been tremendously hurt, and even, though she'd tried her best not to show it, angered.

To the credit of his odd sense of humour, Stark had chuckled at her anger on a couple of occasions, earning himself sushi for dinner.

_So their dedication to healing is weak enough that it depends on who I choose to sleep with,_ she remembered huffing.

_I think the both of us know it is more than that?_ He'd asked, eyebrow arched, and red wine glass dangling between long fingers.

_Actually, _she recalled saying, _it is not more than that. One chooses one's profession because one wants to do it – healing is about preserving life and offering chances. No healer who thinks of something else should ever heal. Else, we are all endowed with specific skill and no soul. What I find even more amusing is that these would choose to laugh at or loathe Szayel Aporro._

He'd laughed at her words, and the fact that she truly found the sound pleasant and appeasing had somewhat softened her scowl.

_The entire point of healing is doing good unto others – undefined others. Not those we deem worthy, not those we deem useful. Those who are leaving have the skill and energy to do that, but will refrain from it because you are about._

_I can go away,_ he always painfully offered.

_That is not the point._ Unohana always replied. _They should love their craft, not me. I am irrelevant. Striving for good is not._

Somehow, she thought, the phrase always seemed to bitterly amuse him.

'Isane,' Unohana Retsu said softly. 'Please, take a seat.'

'I wish you would just tell them, Captain,' the young woman breathed out, before even settling in her chair. She was blushing lightly, and her eyes harboured flame.

'Tell them what, Isane?'

'Of what _he_ is doing to you,' Isane said, leaning forward. 'This cowardly, honourless creature…'

'Stark?'

'Who else?' the young woman exploded. 'This wretched man must be holding something over you – we've seen them all act for almost a year now, they will stop at nothing to have their way, but I would not have imagined that Aizen would sink so low as to allow his minions access to whatever they wish…To such an extent,' Isane whispered, swallowing dry. 'What manner of man would use his position do lay claim to a woman so…'

'All manners of men,' Unohana simply responded. 'But not Stark.'

Isane frowned rebelliously, making her captain sigh. This, she thought, would be a hard battle – oddly enough, not for herself, but for Isane, who'd probably spent month after month reinforcing the belief that her captain was a prisoner. It was even hard to blame her; Isane knew all too well how Unohana's assent to the madness had been obtained, and had probably fostered an ocean of grief and guilt over being the direct instrument of that initial blackmail.

The relationship between herself and Szayel Aporro had never recovered after that day, and Isane's hatred towards the Hollow occupiers of Sereitei had flared more than in the initial few months.

'When the experiment was terminated,' Unohana said, sustaining Isane's glance, 'Stark asked whether I wanted to continue our encounters. I assented, and I am under no duress, from either him, or Szayel Aporro, or even the New Central.'

The general assertion that the truth is liberating was only true by half, Unohana thought, watching Isane's eyes darken. Whatever burden she had just shed by speaking the words she'd meant to speak for months, she had simply shifted to the young woman's shoulders.

'Stark was no more a willing participant to Szayel Aporro's game than I was,' she nonetheless followed. 'He even offered to shield me from it, by pretending he was not physically up to the task.'

'Why did you not…' Isane whispered, clenching her hands in her lap.

'Initially because I was afraid,' Unohana replied, her voice steady and warm. 'I was afraid that he would be replaced with a more violent creature, and then I was afraid that I would be replaced.'

She did not go as far as tell Isane that Szayel Aporro had seen her as a far more suitable candidate for the task. That would only have served to burden one who was already burdened enough. Instead, Unohana lowered her glance, to once more dreamily gaze at the request for transfer of Kirigawa Kichiro.

'He has been very honest with me,' she said. 'I have been honest with him, and we have been a comfort to each other…'

'How could you?' Isane breathed out, her anger beginning to gather against a new target; the question had been aimless. The young woman might have been wondering why her captain had not been honest to her. She might have wondered how Unohana could bring herself to ignore the world around her and take comfort in anything at all, let alone this man – and though she had pondered both questions many times, Unohana herself had only been able to return to the same unsatisfying answer.

_The shadow of his crooked shoulders on that first night. The pain in his voice on that first morning…_

Everything else – the gentleness of his touch, his laughter, his voice reading, his books, his music, his food, his silences…Everything else had come after.

'I saw someone who was tired and injured,' Unohana said. 'I, too,' she added, softly, 'was tired and injured.'

'No,' Isane refused. 'No. You are just saying this to protect me, to keep protecting me,' she pleaded. 'You would not do this to us…'

The former captain looked up and smiled.

'What am I doing to you, Isane?' she asked.

'Our reputation,' Isane stammered. 'Our honour…'

'Do they hinge on whom I choose to share my bed with?' Unohana gently inquired.

'They hinge on everything you do,' the vice-captain answered. 'As they always have.'

Unohana lowered her glance. 'I must apologise then,' she said, in a tone of voice that made Isane shudder. 'I must have made some mistake. I had always intended that you take your pride from the banner you stand under, not the person who temporarily bears it.'

'But nothing of that is left,' Isane answered, sounding on the verge of tears. 'The Gotei is gone, and so is the 4th Division that you created; there is no banner to stand under that could make us proud, and you are the only beacon that is left – you cannot surrender…'

'I am not,' Unohana answered, with a mild shrug. 'Stark has never asked me to, and I would not even if he had. This man seeks no battle…'

'Yet we are still at war,' Isane said, for the first time in cold contempt. 'We are at war, and _these_ creatures continue to be the enemy; that the Primera would choose to have no battle is entirely rational, but that you would choose…that you would choose to live with one of them seems to mean we should all live with them, and if that is not surrender, then…Please, Captain,' she said, her voice lowering to a whisper. 'it cannot be that you would betray us so...'

_I can go away,_ Stark offered, in her thoughts.

'I do not feel as if I were, Isane,' Unohana honestly answered.

'But I do,' the young woman replied. 'We all do,' she whispered, pointing at the parchment which still lay before Unohana. 'What can he have done or said to make you do this…'

'You are furious at me,' the former captain noted, kindly, precisely because she knew it was not true. It all had, all to quickly progressed past the point of anger, and into disappointment.

'No, I am not,' Isane answered. 'I just want to understand.'

_I want to understand, before I determine if I can live with this, or whether my resignation will be next._

'Have you noted, Isane, that through all that has come and gone, the 13th is still the only division that has never had a decimation?' Unohana asked.

'It is in his interest,' the young woman replied. 'Both his and Aizen's – who knows, captain, perhaps some of them are meant to be the stick, and others are meant to be the carrot. If they cannot make us submit by force alone, then perhaps pretence of kindness or reason will do…'

'Perhaps,' Unohana nodded. 'But I do not feel that. After doing away with the higher courts, I doubt that Aizen would even sense the need of a lure. Fear is enough,' she said. 'Fear is, sadly, _always_ enough.'

She sighed, and briefly rested her forehead in her fingers, only marginally aware that it was probably the first time when she had let Isane see her so uncertain and lost. The sight must have created some impression, for the vibration of anger and bitterness in the young woman's energy suddenly faded.

'I do not want to be afraid, Isane,' Unohana said. 'Stark thought that Aizen followed Szayel Aporro's lead into this…experiment,' she brought herself to say, 'because he hoped that it would tarnish my reputation. He has succeeded and it has. Given Stark's nature, then, _our_ nature, it would have tarnished my reputation regardless of whether I chose to see him again or not.'

'He has done his utmost not to harm me,' the dark haired woman followed, 'and the lack of violence alone was enough to get tongues wagging; I ask you to consider my choices. Would you have liked me to refuse a man who sought to do no harm, and willingly offer myself to something else, who would seek harm?'

'No, Gods,' Isane whispered. 'No…'

'But then, you would have had your symbol,' Unohana gently reminded. 'You would have had your beacon of resistance – is that what I should have done, not to betray you all?'

'It is not fair, Captain,' the young woman protested faintly.

'No, it is not,' Unohana nodded. 'In truly being with Stark, the first time, I felt as if I'd flaunted Aizen; he'd wished to harm and humiliate me, but he'd failed. He'd wished, perhaps, for me to go and beg him for all of it to be stopped, but he'd failed at that too – instead, unwittingly, he gave me to one who treated me with gentle respect and courtesy from the first moment to the last. Taking _his_ punishment and turning it into comfort was my victory and Stark's…'

'But Aizen still wins, in the end,' Isane said.

'Not to me,' Unohana whispered, in her turn. 'He only wins if we all let him. I have been happy with Stark, in all the time we shared. He does not speak to me as if I were his enemy, he does not hide from me as if I were his enemy, and in all truthfulness, I think I stopped being one. If I were afraid to admit that he too stopped being mine, then I would give in to the fear of letting Aizen win; he would control my choices, my thoughts and my actions, and that too would be surrender, Isane. Perhaps the greatest and most insidious of them all. I will not do that. Please, do not ask me to.'

'You could simply not see the Primera again,' Isane said, softly. 'You could simply not see him again, and you would deny Aizen all victories. His entire plan would fall flat.'

The dark-haired woman looked up, meeting her vice-captain's gaze.

'Perhaps,' Unohana said softly.

She smiled, letting her glance slip through Isane. Indeed, she thought – if she were to stop seeing Stark, Aizen would simply and irremediably lose on both fronts, or perhaps on the only front that mattered. The image was sweet, so sweet that Stark's permanent offer of withdrawal rung enticing. Would he even blink, Unohana wondered, if she told him she would not meet him alone again? She supposed not, yet somehow, the image did not make anything easier.

_Some kind of luck you have with women, Primera Espada,_ the woman thought. _No wonder you have such practice at creating distances._

'Have you ever known me to be selfish or foolish?' she asked; Isane gently shook her head. 'If Stark had not asked whether he could see me again, I would have asked him,' Unohana said, her voice ringing awkward to her own ears. She smiled, and placed her hand on top of the parchment before her, hesitating minutely before pushing it forth, towards her vice-captain.

'Please, Isane,' she said. 'Ask Kirigawa Kichiro to reconsider his choice.'

'Let's begin,' he said, his hand stretched precisely atop hers.

Unohana looked at the keys before her in apprehension, and, despite her will, her fingers tensed.

'Relax,' Stark laughed, caressing her wrist. 'The first note is always the hardest.'

He pressed her thumb down on the key he'd expertly identified as the middle C, and the single note rang out pure and true; it was odd, Unohana thought. It felt as if before the note had been played, she'd been afraid to shatter the silence with something unworthy – a hesitation, a trace of violence caused by eagerness or uncertainty…

'I have told Isane that I am willingly continuing to be with you,' she said.

The note rang out again.

'I have met Ukitake Jushiro's youngest sister,' Stark offered in turn, once more pressing on her thumb, before unexpectedly and quickly pressing her index, middle, then index finger onto the keys he'd assigned them. 'She had no blanket, so I found her one.'

'I still wanted a piano lesson,' Unohana shrugged.

He did not answer, but used her hand to play the simple sequence of notes once more, then once more, his touch getting lighter every repetition, until, by force of habit, her fingers pressed the keys on their own.

The simple melody delighted her to no end, and she chuckled at herself, letting her fingers work as she looked over her shoulder, smiled in triumph and failed to press the correct key with her middle finger.

She frowned, and looked down at her right hand.

'The fact that the first note is always the hardest does not imply that the others are easy,' Unohana Retsu wisely observed.

* * *

DESTRUCTION

CARNAGE AND DESPAIR

...

or at very least the beginnings of it!


	41. Reveal  Part 1

Good evening, my Dear Espada...erm, what am I saying? I mean, good evening to one and all :) Thank you very much for your kind words and alerts and faves :)

We've been beating around the bush with this one for long enough so, without further adue -

Chapter 41- Where Szayel Aporro simply can't control himself, and old threats begin to surface.

* * *

'Good evening, my dear Espada…and esteemed former colleagues,' Aizen began with his customary cordiality. In truth, the master of Seretei might have said something different, but as soon as Stark had sat down in his customary chair, he'd tuned Aizen out. God was predictable in his bullshit and Stark figured he already knew the gist of the initial greetings.

'Are you sure you do not mean 'Good Morning', Aizen-sama?' he nonetheless asked, as he stifled a groan and buried his face between his long fingers, vainly attempting to keep away the light of the Assembly Hall from his eyes.

'There is still a quarter of an hour before midnight, therefore, it is not yet morning,' Ulquiorra stated with all due redundancy. Stark squinted through his fingers and for the first time in his existence wished to be a Shinigami, as he imagined Ulquiorra's robe suddenly dissolving into ash.

'Fine then,' a voice that Stark found familiar, but did not immediately recognize, said from the side. 'Then we should be, by all means, entitled to expecting 'Good night'.'

'Hee…heh,' Szayel Aporro sighed, sounding genuinely heartbroken.

Not even Gin was smiling.

Stark painstakingly straightened, taking in the small, ruffled assembly through half lidded eyes. Despite the fact that he had sounded as if all of his ships had sunk, all of his experiments had failed, and he had not had intercourse in the past three hours, Szayel Aporro looked as bright and as fresh as ever, and sported a model of uniform that Stark had not seen before, and which was, probably, the ultimate design in terms of how many and completely useless things could be carried at once. Behind him, on the small row of uncomfortable and insignificant looking stools which surrounded the main row of chairs, Retsu looked terribly tired and concerned – he met her glance and attempted to smile in greeting, but the pale grimace that she offered in return caused his stomach to twist.

'Don't worry, he gets moods,' the Primera quietly whispered, pushing his chair back as much as he could. Her smile was more honest this time, and he barely resisted the desire of patting her hand. The fact that she'd worriedly and unwillingly glanced in Ukitake's direction cut that particular intent short, and it was his own smile to turn artificial. He pulled his chair forth before his expression turned outright cold.

'What? No tea?' he asked, looking towards the ceiling.

The young Shinigami who sat behind Barragan cast him a glare that could probably have killed lesser men; the other Shinigami under the Segunda's hand, whose bright pink haori threatened to burn a hole in the Primera's retina arched an eyebrow, and staggered a little as he sought some sort of comfortable position on his small, rounded chair.

_Well_, Stark considered, _at least someone had been having a good night._

'Could you abstain, just once…' Halibel sighed, from the opposite side of the table.

'Seriously, I could really use a cup.' the Primera innocently shrugged.

The door to the assembly hall closed, dryly, poignantly reminding Stark of the tall, sekki stone doors of the Council Chamber in Las Noches. Where most men would have taken the brief moment of attention to the door's mild screech as a good guise to shift uncomfortably, Stark yawned.

The Creator took his time in at the gathering, before sitting at the head of the table; Gin, and even Tousen, who'd been a rare implement in meetings, as of late, quietly took their places standing on either side of Aizen.

'Good evening, my dear Espada,' Aizen repeated. 'Apologies for drawing you out of your quarters at such an unusual time. We nonetheless have an important night before us, and I would be grateful for your undivided attention.'

The lights dimmed.

It was not the tone of his voice to make Stark actually stand to attention – the Creator's voice had been as smooth and cordial as ever. It was the fact that Aizen was not smiling. He looked to the side at Szayel Aporro – then, because the Octava's expression was utterly blank, in sign that he too sensed that something was amiss, and did not worry about appearing either fawningly interested or delicately displeased, he shifted his glance to Halibel.

She revealed no further information, but her posture spoke plainly enough – she was leaning slightly forward, with her elbows on the table, in a pose that was otherwise almost inconceivable; he briefly tried to recall another occasion where she'd not been sitting up as if she had to keep her shoulders glued to the back rest of the chair.

A thin, transparent sheet of glass – a new implement to the council table, which indicated that not all of Szayel Aporro's work had to involve something ominous – rose from the middle of the table, spreading an unpleasantly bright and fluorescent blue light. It flickered a few times, then set to display a rather uninteresting blue sphere.

'This,' Gin began, in the creator's stead, 'is tha human world.'

The room was submerged in heavy silence, which the Creator and his two lieutenants enjoyed to such an extent, that they allowed the assembly to watch the dull, blue sphere spin around itself for a few times. There were no details to be noted, Stark thought; they had not even truly bothered to enhance it with some sort of geographical detail.

For some reason, the thought made him tense.

_All the same to them,_ he thought.

The silence drew on for far too long.

'Oh my God, upon this moment of further observation, I notice that it is round!' Szayel Aporro muttered, leaning towards Stark. 'Would you believe it? Without this midnight meeting, I might have died thinking it rested upon the back of the great giant turtle…'

'I beg to differ,' Stark sighed, out of the same sheer boredom that had probably caused the Octava to address him, of all people. He felt awkwardly tense, but, for a moment, the sensation of his own discomfort seemed secondary; though Unohana was doing her best to keep her reiatsu in check, she was truly worried, now. He could sense it; not because he'd felt her energy fluctuating, but rather, because he had suddenly begun feeling the sting of the tiny adjustments that kept it at a low, steady hum. 'It should rest upon the back of six elephants, four great giant turtles, and only _then _upon the holy gigantesque aardvark…' he added, in a low whisper.

Halibel and Gin's glances turned upon the two, but neither was given the time to react.

'Quiet at the back of the class,' the pink clad Shinigami said. 'Some of us are attempting to sleep with our eyes open…'

He hadn't sounded as ironic as he'd probably intended; his voice had betrayed the same pattern of energy fluctuations as Unohana's reiatsu. The nuance of repressed tension was entirely wasted on Barragan, who spun his chair about looking as if he'd been about to hit the Shinigami across the face; to Stark's surprise, the suddenly cutting and alert look on the Shinigami's otherwise entirely benign features stopped Barragan short and caused to minutely recoil long before Ulquiorra spoke up.

'Maintain respectful silence,' the Cuarta said, coldly; Stark drew a sigh that resounded far louder than his words had, and the world turned boring once more.

As the blue sphere on the screen before them began turning faster, and the image began panning in, Unohana took a deep breath, as if preparing for some unknown disaster; the Primera looked over his shoulder and reassuringly smiled once more. She tensed visibly, and this time, not even Ukitake's presence could stop him from slightly turning his chair to the side and reaching for her hand in the dark; she squeezed it briefly, but tightly, and her fingers felt as if they'd been made out of ice.

It was Stark's experience that the Universe itself always conspired to make the worse happen. Dreading the moment when a disaster was revealed never averted it; he wished he could tell her that much.

'Whatever comes…' he quietly mouthed – the twinge of doubt in her eyes caused him to swallow dry, and let go of her hand.

'This,' Ichimaru Gin continued, as the image had clarified enough for a silky, blue and wavering surface, which entirely covered the sphere to become visible, 'is da reiatsu fabric of da human world.'

He fell silent once more, but at least this time, the rolling image presented some interest – the reiatsu rose into peaks of high concentration and descended into gentle, low valleys, looking akin to an eerily frozen sea. As the picture was enhanced, Stark even fancied he saw the myriad of tightly weaved energy streams that formed it, and idly wished that the graphic had allowed him some form of geographical reference points, for red, flat strands, the tell-tale signs of Shinigami reiatsu clearly stood out amid the dull blue.

His wish was granted soon enough.

The frozen sea peaked upwards unexpectedly, so much so that the image definition had to be reduced – the mountain that they'd come across was not only blue, but boasted at least three or four wide, red strands, and, before the picture could be pulled into wide perspective, Stark imagined he'd seen not one, but two thin, white energy streams.

_Ishida…_ he thought, swallowing dry.

The image stopped rolling, and panned to a direct vertical.

'Karakura Town,' Ichimaru said, as if the monstrous reiatsu concentration of God's ascension point had required any explanation to be clearly recognized.

'This image, I trust, is familiar to us all,' Aizen said, oddly enough, lending his voice no particular inflexion, and unusually missing out on an open chance of reminding the Shinigami captains of their defeat. 'The technology that allows us this view…'

'…is ancient,' Szayel Aporro suddenly snarled, probably taking the reference as a personal offence.

'Indeed,' Aizen responded; though his voice had been amicable, his quick glance still cause the Octava to pull back, and emit a small, frightened and apologetic wave of reishi. The creator seemed pleased. 'It was created for the sole use of Chamber 46,' he continued, shifting his glance to Stark in open irony, 'to monitor Quincy numbers during the third war.'

The Primera yawned once more, rejecting the challenge.

'It therefore is able to distinguish between human, Shinigami, Quincy and even Arrancar reiatsu, and that was all that it has been depicting since what is commonly, but _erroneously_ defined as the beginning of time.'

Unohana and Ukitake held their breath, in frightening synchronicity; at the same time, the pink clad Shinigami straightened, and his glance lost all traces of a drunken haze. Stark pitied him slightly. The fact that one rapidly sobered up had no implication on the dimensions of the hangover.

'As of tonight, tho',' Ichimaru picked up as the image rapidly began to shift once more – _south, south west,_ Stark rapidly told himself, not wishing to lose the only reference point he had, 'things got a new flavor.'

Unohana breathed out, sharply.

A dark hole, no larger than the point of a needle, broke the uninterrupted the weave of blue; seemingly controlled by Aizen's willpower, the picture drew closer and became clearer, revealing something that looked eerily akin to a suppurating wound. The swirling edges of the darkness, which made the tear look akin to the eye of a hurricane, were strewn with a disgusting, yellowish-green strands. The hole rapidly pulsed inwards and outwards, not truly spreading out, as if the unknown pattern of yellow energy could not overpower the blue. Still, even as they watched, the yellow and green which formed its edges spun into ever more definite strands.

'Faulty equipment?' Halibel guessed, sounding far less assured then her vaunt.

'It would not appear so,' Szayel Aporro answered, shaking his pink tresses and leaning closer to the glass pane. 'The granularity of the picture seems to be correct – if the equipment was faulty, I would expect to see lost pixels where the signal is dropping…'

'Our initial assumption is not that the equipment is faulty,' Aizen conceded. 'We are assuming that it is simply receiving a different form of energy.'

'Hollow?' Halibel asked, turning her chair towards Gin. Ichimaru grinned wide.

'Nah,' he answered. 'This ain't designed to pick up Hollow; the stuff we're seeing is sort of made out of chains of fate, an' Hollow have none.'

'It would explain the break in the weave,' Stark ventured, clenching his teeth.

'Yes,' Aizen conceded again. 'It might.'

'This cannot be Hollow,' Szayel Aporro said, so absorbed with the image before him that he thought nothing of dryly dismissing the Creator's answer. 'Can we zoom in further, please?' he quipped, in open irritation – the tiny tear was enlarged, engulfing the entire screen, in perfect, uninterruptible darkness.

The Octava leaned in even further, for a moment looking as if he'd been about to climb on the table; he clicked on the side of the screen, causing a few inscrutable markings to start pulsing along its edges.

'Well, this, hm…' he muttered; behind him, Unohana had clasped her hands to her chest, as if the result of his examination had carried some tremendous consequence.

_Not good, not good, not good…_Lilinette whispered, on the edges of Stark's mind.

'God, Szayel Aporro,' Stark muttered; he could feel Unohana's heartbeat in her energy. 'Would you kindly care to use _words?'_

'If I knew what words to use,' Szayel stingily replied, 'I would.'

'And here I thought your logorrhea required no prior thought…' Barragan blurted. The Octava smirked.

'_This_ is definitely not Hollow,' Szayel said. Unlike the Shinigami captains, who'd recoiled slightly, Aizen and Gin leaned in hungrily.

'How can you know?' Unohana queried, in a trembling voice; Ukitake had completely stopped breathing.

'Well, Re-chan, in real surface terms, the radius of this is about eight to ten kilometers,' Szayel Aporro shrugged. 'If a Vasto Lorde of those dimensions had existed…Stark wouldn't,' the Octava merrily grinned.

'Nor would any of us,' Halibel said, with admirable calm.

'Could it be a colony?' the pink clad Shinigami asked.

'Absolutely _not_…Please do not ask inept questions, Kyoraku Shunsui,' Szayel muttered, sounding thoroughly insulted. 'If this was a colony, we would at most be seeing a blue surface punctuated by an impressive number of dark dots. This is not the case; whatever this is, it is a perfectly homogenous tear in the reishi weave, indicating the presence of…'

He looked towards Aizen, and shrugged minutely.

'_Absolute void,'_ he said.

Aizen smiled, and leaned his elbow on the table, dreamily contemplating the image.

'Thank you for the confirmation, Szayel Aporro,' he uttered. 'This is all we wished to hear. Please, take a seat.'

'What have you…' Unohana suddenly said.

'No,' Ukitake interrupted, gently but decisively; Stark turned to find that the Shinigami behind him had stood, frowning fiercely. 'This is not a _void._' He breathed in Aizen's direction, ignoring the fact that Stark's reiatsu tentacles had spring forth, threatening to choke him.

'Ever the arrogant optimist, eh, Ukitake…' Gin sighed.

'No,' the Shinigami repeated – even the simple word caused his breath to hitch, and the muscles in his chest to tense as if his ribcage had been about to implode. 'If your explanation is correct, Octava Espada,' he stubbornly followed, 'and this were indeed…_a void_…', he forced himself to say, giving Stark the impression that the hesitation had had nothing to do with his faltering breath, but rather with the fact that he was actively refraining himself to call the thing by its true name, 'then, what is _that?'_ he ended, pointing at the yellowish creep.

'I would not dare to guess,' Szayel shrugged. 'It would be unscientific.'

'Still,' Kyoraku Shunsui spoke up, 'my inept question earlier just helped you clarify that the presence of colour implies the presence of an energy pattern.'

For a face as unshaven and angular as he had, Stark thought, the Shinigami could muster the strangest of innocently ironic expressions.

'Yes,' Szayel Aporro yielded, as if the word had been pried forth from his tongue with a burning iron.

'Therefore,' Shunsui shrugged, casting an openly threatening glare in Aizen's direction, 'that is not…_a void.'_

'Why do I get the unpleasant sensation that everyone _but_ me knows what they are talking about?' Stark snarled, in irritation.

'Not everybody,' Halibel snarled in turn; they locked glances over the table, and for a mere, split second, her green eyes reminded him of who she had once been. In unspoken understanding he looked to Barragan, and she looked to Ulquiorra – the screech of her fangs beneath her visor was telling enough. 'Just some of us,' she said, crossing her arms over her chest, and leaning back.

'So?' Barragan blurted. 'Would _some_ of us want to make it clear to everybody?'

'Nothing is yet definite,' Ulquiorra smoothly returned – his words had carried such an arrogant undertone that Barragan aggressively inched forward. The more surprising reaction, however, came from Aizen himself, who cast a half amused, half surprised glance at his Cuarta. Stark had to stifle a chuckle, and once more locked glances with Halibel, softly shaking his head.

_He doesn't know either. He's just pretending._

Her glare did not soften, and perhaps, Stark conceded, with a small shrug, she was right to be thoroughly displeased. Regardless of what Ulquiorra actually knew, he'd received some sort of warning, or at least knew more than those around him, and had intelligently used it to place himself even closer to Aizen's side than he actually was.

'So, now what?' Stark tiredly inquired, not really awaiting an answer. Instead of looking to Aizen, he spun his chair about just enough to glance at Ukitake, who was still standing, his skin threatening to invent a new shade of grey. He caught the Shinigami's eyes, then pointedly looked to the small chair, before once more looking into his eyes.

Ukitake hesitated to obey, but tiredly conceded a second later.

'Now,' Aizen said, resting his chin on the back of his knitted fingers, 'we need to confirm or infirm our intuitions – make everything..._definite_.' he ended, making use of Ulquiorra's words.

Pointedly proving that there were limits to even his self restraint capacities, Szayel Aporro once more leaned to the Primera's side.

'Now…If Ulquiorra were a small dog,' the Octava softly purred, 'he'd be rolling on the floor, either doing a reflexive leg scratch or losing control of his bladder.'

Stark laughed – neither chuckled, nor snickered, but laughed out loud, causing Ukitake to instinctively push his chair back; neither the fact that Halibel had hidden her forehead in her hand, nor the fact that Tousen had put his hand on the hilt of his zanpakutoh, not even the fact that Ichimaru's eyes had widened to the extent that his pupils were actually showing could stop him.

_Little, and gay, but more of a wasp than a butterfly,_ the Primera conceded, forgetting to hate Szayel Aporro for a few seconds.

'That was a telegram from Hell,' Stark managed, between chuckles. Unohana shifted her glance between the two Espada, frowning in incomprehension, but not looking deeply displeased.

Perhaps because the fact that Stark's honest reaction to whatever had been said showed the Creator's control over his minions was not as tight as Aizen would have liked the world to think, Kyoraku Shunsui cast a quick glance towards a thoroughly disconcerted Ichimaru Gin, lowered his wide hat, and chuckled in turn.

The rest of the assembly was too stunned to react.

'The perfect storm,' the Shinigami said. 'Ruined.'

Stark caught Unohana's glance, and winked, and, if his gesture had suddenly breathed courage into her, the woman looked towards Aizen flashing her eerie, blood curling smile.

_We are not afraid of you, _the look on her features said. _You have not crushed us yet._

The brief expression of open defiance on her face justified it all, and even though Aizen's reiatsu swept excruciatingly over the assembly, turning the room into a heavy and silent void, the Primera continued to grin. Sadly, just like all other freedoms life randomly chose to grant, this one was short lived as well.

'I believe we have three volunteers, Aizen-sama,' Ulquiorra Schiffer said.

'Indeed,' Gin snarled, in Aizen's stead.

* * *

Up next, to quote Exoduus - THE BLACK GOAT WITH A THOUSAND YOUNG! CTHULHU FTHAGN! 


	42. Reveal Part 2

Many apologies for the delay, so without further introductions...

* * *

When he stepped out of the senkai gate and into what was apparently a monstrously large shrub, Stark was surprised, to say the least – he'd expected yet another urban setting, or perhaps some sort of wasteland, fit for the void that apparently drifted directly above it.

The place was nothing of the sort. In fact, despite its thoroughly alien appearance, it had an oddly eclectic, charming quality; life, in all shapes and forms but human seemed to prosper all about, and the dark, night sky merely dulled what must have a madness of colour.

Pushing the overgrown foliage aside, he joined the others in quickly rising above the tree canopy. Having cleared the vegetation, Stark took a moment to get a view of the place, finding it truly alien. Under their feet lied a vast jungle that stretched for miles under a clear, moonlit sky. To his left, there was a vast plain the edges of which were sprinkled with soft yellow lights, the markings of human settlements. Off to his right, he saw a lake or perhaps an immense river, easily wider than two kilometers. Its waters were calm and glassy and odd, and square rigged sails moved gracefully up and down its length. In front, he could make out the dark shapes of spires, almost as tall as the cathedrals he remembered, rising up out of the ground at intermittent lengths, like a series of oddly shaped tents. The hinted lights of human establishment glowed softly all around the spires, adding to their dreamy appearance.

It was odd, Stark eerily thought, considering the alien beauty which surrounded him. Come to think of it, he should have probably added travelling to his tenets of immortality. He inwardly shrugged – if there was a single advantage to be drawn from his current condition, it was that he knew it would never be too late.

'Well, Szayel Aporro,' he said, more to break the silence than to actually reproach the Octava, '_now_ you've done it.'

'I can scarcely help the fact that you have no self restraint!' Szayel shrieked – unlike Stark's own disposition, the Octava's mood had clearly taken a sharp turn for the worst.

'Ow…' Shunsui moaned, pressing his hairy hand to his right ear.

'…at least he's drunk,' Szayel muttered, casting a disgusted look towards the Shinigami.

'In the Primera's defense, I am rarely fully sober,' Shunsui shrugged, taking no offence.

'That may well be,' the Octava snapped, lifting the small tablet that he'd brought along in front of his face, 'but now you are…'

He looked at the Shinigami _through _the tablet then, as if could not believe his eyes, pulled it so close in front of his own face that he threatened to crush his perfect nose.

'This cannot _possibly _be – the concentration of alcohol in your blood stream is a medical impossibility…Great!' Szayel Aporro shrieked, throwing his arms up in despair, and startling a large flock of birds from the jungle below into sudden flight.

The beautifully coloured creatures stormed them from below, confusedly swarming all about them, and though they posed no threat, the Octava began swatting about himself as if he'd suddenly been attacked by a swarm of bees.

'Microbes!' he breathed out, in terror. 'Microbes and bacteria, everywhere! I _hate_ animals,' he whined. 'Hate, hate, hate…'

Stunned by the display, Shunsui questioningly glanced at Stark, from underneath his straw hat; the Primera contented himself on a shrug, acknowledging that Szayel Aporro defied explanation, and chose to admire the last of the birds as the flock found its way and disappeared into the distance. Though the sight of the clear starry sky mirroring on the surface of the water, on the distant horizon should have brought him peace, Stark frowned, and shoved his hands in his pockets. He did not notice that the habitual crook in his shoulders had suddenly returned.

'Do you smell anything, Szayel Aporro?' he asked.

After a terrible smirk, the Octava looked up from his tablet and actually closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply – if Shunsui had felt the vague wave of Szayel's pesquisa, he gave no sign of having acknowledged it.

'Pre-indoor plumbing civilization,' Szayel Aporro sighed. 'Cattle, a few types of goats, wild animals, birds, microbes!...pigs…_humans…'_ he snarled. 'No reiatsu…'

His shriek caught both Stark and Shunsui entirely by surprise; the Octava all but dropped his tablet, and brought his left hand to his cheek.

'For the love of…' the Primera hissed – he cut himself short, and rolled to the side in mid air, only catching the fact that Shunsui had done the same through the corner of his eyes. The speed of the movement, as well as the fact that the Shinigami had deftly caught his hat before it could fly away were only a minute detail. The truly important fact was the faint, but undeniable trace of dark blood that tricked over Szayel Aporro's fingers.

It was the Octava's turn to react the fastest; Szayel Aporro side stepped, then vanished to full Sonido against some unseen opponent.

'Move it,' he spat, from somewhere above.

Stark did not think twice – in turn, Kyoraku Shunsui only moved when the unseen, aggressive front had half shredded his haori. Unlike the two Espada, who'd chosen to use their Sonido and evade upwards, the Shinigami reappeared only a couple of feet above the canopy. His choice proved the wiser.

Szayel Aporro's eyes went wide, not in regular theatrics, but in genuine shock. His gaze only shifted from his tablet for a second, leaving Stark with the impression that the Octava was trying to decide whether he'd drag Stark along on his next unexplained evasion, or simply evade, and let whichever God sort out his own.

The Primera breathed in, deeply, smelling no more than stifling humidity, and, indeed, he admitted to himself, pre-indoor plumbing civilization.

Szayel Aporro opted for the latter of his choices, and vanished from view.

The unknown struck Stark clearly across the chest, and sent him tumbling into the trees below as if he had been a sack of potatoes. It was shock rather than inability to make Stark not use Sonido to redress himself – as the sharp, long leaves of trees that he only knew from books stingingly bit at his flesh, and strange, nature woven ropes bruised him, he could think of nothing, and _feel_ nothing at all.

He landed in mud, digging a twenty foot deep hole, but feeling eerily fortunate, for the Gods only knew what shrieking fit dust would have sent Szayel Aporro into next.

'_Merde_1_,_' Stark muttered, easily lifting himself out of his hole, and already realizing that trying to get rid of the mud would be useless.

He shook his right hand and carefully peeled off his glove; after a second of consideration, he flung the utterly destroyed piece of silk to the side, and even chuckled when Szayel Aporro hastily used Sonido to dodge it.

'You're alive,' the Shinigami noted, from behind. The Primera could not help but notice a distinct note of displeasure.

'Sorry,' Stark shrugged. 'Tends to happen.'

'But…a basket of fruit, you are not.' Szayel Aporro said, considering him in utter disgust – and, Stark conceded with a further shrug, he did not feel like a basket of fruit either. The mud hid the darkness of the blood that oozed from a myriad cuts, but did nothing to conceal the deep wound across his chest.

'Depends how old of a basket of fruit,' Shunsui correctly observed.

'You just _love_ to contradict me, do you not?' the Octava snapped, embracing his tablet as if it had been his only friend in the world.

Ignoring both, Stark extended his fingers, and once more breathed in, now, through every pore of his skin. A few, perhaps less then ten blue particles, glittering like fireflies gathered about his fingers and melted into his skin. It was entirely insufficient.

'…the hell?' he queried. He regretted looking up to Szayel Aporro almost as soon as he had done so.

'What part of _no reiatsu_ did I not speak clearly enough?' the Octava sweetly inquired. 'Just two simple words…Don't even think about it!' Szayel shrieked, when the Primera decisively pointed his hand in his direction. 'Have this,' he said, flinging Stark one of the many unnecessary things he carried, a vial full of a strangely shimmering blue mass.

The Octava cared little for the fact that Stark's extended fingers failed to attract any of the compressed, active, but neutral reishi. Szayel Aporro simply turned away, and, resting his tablet on his right arm, began typing furiously.

'…you'll need to drink that, and let your digestive system work,' the Octava said. 'Alternatively, you could pour it all over yourself and rub it in,' he added, gracefully touching his own chest with a smile that left little room for interpretation; Stark downed the contents of the vial without further thought.

In silence which was broken only by the shrill cries of birds, Kyoraku Shunsui settled down, and leaned against a tree, lowering the brim of his hat despite the fact that the night was growing darker. In turn, Stark melted on to his back, following Szayel's advice, and allowing the nest of ants that had invaded his body to do their bidding; there was pleasant heat across his chest, and tinkling along his leaf cuts.

'Why is _it_ not following us?' Shunsui asked, at length.

There were not only birds, Stark thought. There were also crickets.

'Because there is no sentient _it,'_ Szayel responded. 'That was not an attack. It was a random gush of energy.'

'You dodged it, though,' Stark noted. Once one was already dirty, the wet mud and grass were actually pleasant, he thought. How it would feel once it actually began to dry was a different issue altogether.

_You actually dodged it, you sneaky bastard._

'That is because I have no instinct,' Szayel said. 'I only possess intellect. And,' he added, offering his tablet for inspection, 'if I see _this_ upon a piece of technology of my creation, I trust integrated circuits and not my sense of smell.'

According to the tiny fluorescent screen, and the small insects it attracted, lines of yellow-green light spread concentrically above, sporadically following the circumference of something too wide to be seen. Under different circumstances, Stark thought, watching a thin cloud of mosquitoes rushing outwards in various directions as the enticing strong light did the same might have been funny.

'How…' Kyoraku Shunsui spoke, from under his hat. 'How can you teach your machine to see what you yourself do not?'

'Because I told it my sight is limited,' Szayel shrugged. 'My body can only feel energy in a certain form. Circuits have no interest in nuance, though. To circuits, it is, or it is not.'

The Octava stretched out his arm, with its fluorescent tablet, and its roving rows of mosquitoes.

'In this case, it _is_ above us, and its energy is just below the threshold that would make it _be_ to our bodies. The instruments still pick it up.'

'And it still hit me like a concrete wall,' Stark added.

Szayel hesitated for a moment.

'Well, that…hm,' he muttered, 'is not entirely accurate!' he rushed to complete, when Stark threw him a murderous glare. He clicked his tablet a few more times and frowned. 'You seem to be particularly unlucky – more then one line of whatever this is randomly swept over where you were standing. Did you still sense nothing?'

'Goats,' Stark shrugged, sitting up, and scratching the back of his head. 'Any light you could shed, Shinigami?' he asked, coldly – Shunsui gazed at him for a few seconds, then tipped his hat back down.

'Light attracts insects,' he said, dryly. 'In any event,' he added, cutting off the sharp remark that was just about to roll off Stark's tongue, 'I would still suggest that rising above the tree line might not be smart.'

'We cannot be unlucky twice in a row…'the Octava began to protest.

'We've just been unlucky three times in a row, and in a matter of seconds,' Shunsui shrugged. 'Your face, for one. My haori for second. The Primera's major unluck for third.'

'The pattern above is random,' Szayel responded, shaking his head.

'That can be,' the Shinigami answered. 'Or not,' he added. 'However, even if it is random, it is still dense enough that if we rise above the tree line, it will continue taking swipes at us.'

'Are you by any chance suggesting that we do a Tarzan imitation?' Szayel spat. 'Jump from branch to branch, and dangle on vines? Perhaps adopt a chimpanzee? There is no conceivable way of using high speed techniques, the forest is too dense.'

'What's a Tarzan?' Stark frowned.

'…what am I saying,' the Octava muttered. 'I have not one chimpanzee, but two already…'

'I suggest walking,' Shunsui said, leaning on the tree behind him to rise to his feet.

'A novel idea,' Stark mumbled, rising to his feet in his turn. He looked down upon himself, and cringed. 'But it just might work,' he sighed, conceding defeat to his thoroughly muddied tunic. 'The question remains, where would we be walking to?'

_Try to answer that without shedding any light, Shinigami…_ he thought, glancing at Shunsui through half lidded eyes.

'I honestly do not know,' the Shinigami answered; whether he'd truly been honest or not was anyone's guess. Despite the fact that his features looked truly peaceful, and his manner was thoroughly relaxed, the man had an unpleasant, fox like quality. 'Are your reiatsu sensing abilities being artificially impaired, _Quincy_?' he casually asked.

'No,' Stark hissed, through gritted teeth. 'And I would appreciate…'

'Neither are mine.' The Shinigami interrupted. 'The fact that neither of us is sensing anything means that there is nothing to sense. If I were to rely on eyesight,' he followed, scratching his hairy chest, 'I would say head towards any visible landmark. I noticed some temple spires a couple of miles west. They seem like as good a place to start as any.'

Stark considered for a moment, then nodded. Shunsui turned, and slowly started walking away, disappearing into the dense foliage just a second later; the Primera tiredly followed – and more than a minute passed before either noticed that Szayel had not budged.

'Octava?' Stark queried, steeling himself for the response.

Rather than the expected squeak, however, Szayel Aporro's answer came in the form of a growl.

'I…' the Octava began, his pitiful reiatsu stirring violently, and causing the leaves and vines to sway, 'am…_not…_walking.'

Stark and Shunsui exchanged a glance, then sighed in unwilling unison, and turned around.

Szayel was standing in the exact same place, hugging his tablet tightly, and looking on the verge of tears.

'Have you any idea how many…_things_…are lurking in this mud, and on these leaves?' he whimpered. 'How many yet undiscovered pathogens, bacteria, and just plain disgusting creatures roam this jungle?'

'No,' Shunsui shrugged, just as Stark had been about to point that whatever Szayel had said was lurking would probably not affect something that was already dead. 'I do, however, see the gigantic centipede that is currently ascending your leg.'

Szayel Aporro's scream frightened every living creature on a radius of three miles; birds darted upwards from all around them, and a chorus of terrified monkey yelps was swiftly followed by furious shaking of the leaves and branches above.

Ironically, the sudden upheaval of nature's peace showered all three with a myriad insects, which had been nesting in the trees – caterpillars, cocoons, spiders the size of a man's fist and cockroaches the size of a man's finger.

It was only the Octava that pointlessly tried to avoid them, by quickly using his Sonido to move around, without taking note of the fact that rainfall of living critters was as dense everywhere; when it all finally stopped, and semblance of peace descended, he'd returned to the spot where he'd initially been standing, and crouched, covering his hair with his arms and sobbing pitifully.

'Hm,' Shunsui said, taking off his hat, and brushing off a fat, green caterpillar that had landed on top of it and was slowly making its way towards the edge. He considered Stark, who was glancing at the brightly orange spider on his shoulder in utter fascination, then once more looked towards the Octava.

'I shall not be offering to carry you until I accurately determine your gender,' the Shinigami shrugged.

'Good luck with that,' Stark said, dryly. He shifted from foot to foot, cringing at the fact that he had just stepped on something _crunchy._ 'There is a city around those spires,' he noted, towards no one in particular.

Szayel Aporro looked up as if he'd seen divine grace.

The couple of miles that separated them from the spires were a lot longer when one could not simply walk in a straight line; the foliage, shrubbery, and intricate weave of vines was so dense that Stark considered using Cero to clear their path on more than one occasion. Their speed was also not aided by the fact that once he'd overcome his fear and hatred of every single thing around him, Szayel Aporro walked without looking away from his tablet, and continuously bumped into things or stumbled upon them.

Stark distantly wondered why he was not even irritated.

In fact, he wondered why he felt such a tremendous sense of anxiety.

On the good side, he considered, the heavy humidity in the air assured that the mud on his tunic would not dry any time soon.

For one who had always found the various flavours of the reiatsu world almost overwhelming, and a constant assault on his overly sensitive radar, the absence of _anything_, anything at all, was thoroughly unusual and disconcerting. It made him feel as if the silence had been literally pressing on his eardrums.

'So, Kyoraku Shunsui,' Stark said, finding the sound of his own voice soothing. 'I hear you've not been making friends with Barragan.'

The Shinigami stopped briefly, and cast a seemingly unfocussed glare over his shoulder.

'While I have noted _you_ have been making friends with Re-chan,' Shunsui replied, dryly, somehow addressing both Szayel and Stark, and, at the same time, addressing neither.

'She is a lovely lady,' both Arrancar answered – they looked towards each other, and exchanged a glance cold enough to freeze the entire tropic. Oddly enough, however, the tone of both their voices when they'd uttered the reply had carried warmth. It was even more odd that the Shinigami noticed it, frowned for a split second, then seemed to accept it for truthful.

'She is,' he agreed, moving on. 'No, I have not been making friends with the Segunda Espada,' he followed. 'In truth, I maintain myself in a drunken haze that allows me to permanently daydream of splitting his skull.'

The response he'd clearly expected did not come, and the Shinigami looked over his shoulder with a curious frown.

'Not surprised,' Szayel Aporro briefly and distractedly clarified. 'For however welcome that would be, from a sheer olfactory point of view, I doubt that you will get a chance to.'

'We will not fight each other again,' Stark said, understanding that Szayel Aporro had not intended to slate the Shinigami, and wondering where his own intuition had come from.

'I also maintain myself in a drunken haze to stave off _that_ particular idea,' Shunsui replied, clenching his teeth and pressing onwards.

'Yes, well, hm,' Szayel muttered. 'I would be grateful if you did not tar us all with the same brush, Kyoraku Shunsui. Not that we should not be tarred, but…'

'…with different brushes,' Stark completed, causing the Octava to snicker.

'Indeed,' he said, cursing under his breath as he stumbled upon a vine.

'Are you attempting to say that you dissociate from your fellow Espada?' Shunsui snarled; his guess was so far from the truth that it was Stark's turn to snicker.

'Nonononono,' Szayel replied, in Stark's stead. 'Just from certain aspects of them.'

'I abhor rule by force in its sheer manifestation,' the Primera said. 'It permanently reminds me that fear is a cheap and plentiful way of manipulating masses.'

'While I,' Szayel Aporro picked up, 'abhor rule by force in implication. The notion that power can exist in the absence of intellect makes me shudder…'

'…and cuddle yourself to sleep,' Stark snickered.

'If there is nothing else to cuddle,' Szayel answered, with a bright smile.

'Neither of you dissociates from his brutality, however,' the Shinigami said.

'His brutality is a symptom of his lack of intelligence that I hate, and, by consequence, of his philosophical concept of rule, that Stark hates,' the Octava responded.

'What is Aizen looking for, out here, Kyoraku Shunsui?' the Primera asked, slightly encouraged by the fact that some conversation had begun to flow.

The Shinigami briefly considered the two Espada that were treading behind him – his thick lips tightened and stretched out in a cutting line.

'Something I hope not to find,' he answered honestly. 'I would rather not even think about it, until it becomes unavoidable.' Shunsui added. 'If we do find it,' he followed, after a small hesitation, 'I will explain.'

His promise had sounded honest, and though Szayel Aporro had scowled in a characteristic, royally displeased manner, Stark had accepted the promise with a nod and a sigh.

'Where is out here, anyway?' he asked.

'Myanmar, formerly known as Burma,' Szayel Aporro distractedly responded. 'On the west bank of the river Irrawaddy, and currently on the very edges of larger settlement, called…'

'That is alright, Szayel Aporro. Nothing that you have just said means anything to me,' Stark muttered, displeased at his own lack of knowledge.

'Nor to me. How do you know all of these things?' Shunsui inquired, for the first time cracking something that resembled a grin.

'Nobody knows,' Stark shrugged. 'Nobody _wants_ to know,' he added, sensing that Szayel had briefly felt even prouder of himself than he normally did. The Octava huffed, taking exaggerated offence. In turn encouraged by the flow of the conversation, Shunsui slowed down just enough to fall in step with Stark.

His resolve seemed to be consumed by the gesture, but though walking side by side was distinctly difficult, neither man fell out of step, nor drifted too far apart when going around obstacles.

'It does not seem as if you were hurting or coercing Re-chan,' Shunsui said, dryly, not making eye contact.

'No, I am not,' Stark earnestly responded.

'Because, frankly,' the Shinigami followed, still not glancing the Espada's way, 'I find it strange that she would accept you of her own free will.'

The Primera looked down at his muddied tunic.

'I cannot understand it either,' he shrugged, wishing he could stuff his hands in his pockets.

Kyoraku Shunsui measured him through the corner of his eyes.

'Yes,' he said, once more hastening his step. 'The best ones are always make you feel like that.'

The tree line did not thin. It simply and abruptly stopped.

Despite how horrid traveling through the undergrowth had been, Stark suddenly felt a twinge of anxiety, immediately followed by a longing for the concealment the overgrowth had provided. Before them, on the edges of the forest, lay an immense expanse of terraced rice fields, which flowed in gentle, graceful stair steps away from the foot of the mountains and towards the vast, lush banks of the river. A wide cut road snaked through the fields, melting into the horizon towards the distant spires and intermittent lights. Perfect terrain for Sonido, he thought, stealing a glance towards the clear sky; the cloudless, starry blanket above lent him no reassurance. He couldn't help but feel horribly exposed.

He glanced over his shoulder as Szayel awkwardly tripped through the last of the vines, cursing loudly and practically glowing in the moonlight with his white uniform and ridiculous pink hair.

Well, Stark considered, with a little shrug, if anything above was indeed watching, there was no doubt over who it would get _first._

Without exchanging a single glance, the Primera and Shunsui fell into an unhurried rhythm as they cut the quickest path through the fields and towards the sinuous road. The shortcut had been a measly few tens of yards long, yet, by the time their feet finally touched blissfully solid surface, their shoes and socks were thoroughly soaked, and perhaps five pounds heavier. Stark found himself hard pressed to pick which one of their group was filthier. Thankfully, the Octava seemed to have reached some sort of personal snapping point and had ceased to voice any complaints.

'It's gotten a bit quiet.'

Despite that he had merely whispered, Shunsui's quiet utterance seemed to ring out as clear as any shout.

'Well, yes,' Szayel Aporro angrily rasped back, stomping his feet in futile rage and predictably assuming that the world revolved around him, 'I became resigned to the futility of _everything_ when I realized we were walking through fields fertilized with human feces!'

Shunsui held up a hand to forestall any further whinnying; eyes narrowed, he stopped in the middle of the road, sweeping his hat off and listening intently.

'No. What I mean is it all used to be a lot louder than this.' He noted. 'Not you, Octava Espada,' he duly added, probably sensing that Szayel Aporro had drawn a deep breath in preparation for the next unstoppable tirade. 'Everything else _but_ you.'

Both the Arrancar halted and listened for a moment, and, indeed, Stark thought, there was absolutely nothing, the startling, deep silence as alarming as any loud explosion the Primera had ever heard. Near the edge of the forest, the fields had at least held the occasional gentle plop of a small fish jumping out of a irrigation ditch or the continuous symphony of various amorous frogs. Now, there was nothing: just a vast blanket of utter silence in the humid night. Stark frowned, and vainly gazed over the fields around them, to see where all the native life had so suddenly vanished to.

He unwillingly glanced up, at the still deceivingly clear sky.

'How's it looking, Szayel Aporro?' he quietly asked; the Shinigami looked over his shoulder, awaiting the Octava's answer.

As usual when his input was actually requested, Szayel Aporro gave no obvious signs of noticing he'd just been spoken to. He simply gazed into his tablet, occasionally poking it with a graceful stylus, emitting small, amazed squeaks at whatever the instrument was displaying, and leaving both Stark and Shunsui to gaze impatiently and uneasily about themselves.

'Hm,' he said, at long length. 'There seems to be a concentrated point of…'

Much like Stark and Shunsui, time lost its patience.

Amongst the shadowed forms of the alien city on the distant horizon, a new light slowly grew and spread, engulfing the soft yellow pinpricks of the humans' mechanical lights. It started as little more than a dull orange glow, almost unnoticeable between the shadows of the various dwellings, but blossomed at amazing speed, tinting the darkness of the sky as paint quickly diluting in clear water. Szayel and Shunsui looked up in immediate fascination, while Stark, who'd still been frowning at the Octava in vain hope that Szayel would complete his thought, turned about with a second of delay.

As Stark turned to fully regard what it was his companions were looking at, a ghastly tongue of yellow fire burst out from the dark agglomeration of buildings which lay between the spires of the temple, like an oiled wick, pouring from stone doorways and windows and roaring dozens of feet into the air as a single tongue of flame.

'…up ahead,' Szayel pointlessly concluded.

* * *

Up next, the Zombie Apocalypse gets made into reality.


	43. Reveal  part 3

I blame Exoduus :) I really do.

Thank you for reading ^^

* * *

The trio stood frozen in morbid fascination as the fire continued to burn at an unnatural strength, suddenly transforming the overbearing silence into a wave powerful, alien reiatsu – it felt, Stark thought, as if the flame on the horizon had been literally feeding on all of the menial energies of the world around it, leaving it utterly bare, not only of energy, but also of life. For an instant, as the flame flared higher, he felt his skin was being hooked and tugged by a million tiny needles, as if something had travelled over him and through him – with the corner of his eyes, he noted that Szayel Aporro had all but succumbed to the same sensation, and had bent his shoulders in protectively. The gentle fields around them had turned into a turbulent sea, rising and falling in wave after wave, though there was no perceptible wind and the oppressing humidity had not dulled.

'Would you care to shed some light _now?'_ Szayel shrieked, desperately clutching his tablet; holding on to his hat, Shunsui looked over his shoulder, not to the Octava, but to Stark, and the look of unexpected, crippling despair in the Shinigami's eyes made Stark's stomach turn into lead, and extinguished all of the Primera's longing for detail. Somehow, the fact that Kyoraku Shunsui had conveyed just how dire the situation was all that he needed or cared to know.

The ceiling of the great temple cracked and fell inward, and the spell broke; all three sped forward, abandoning caution and vanishing to Sonido and Shumpo.

Szayel and Stark might have halted at the edge of the city, but Shunsui continued forward, blurring from building to building, pausing only long enough to make sure there was no immediate threat ahead. Both cursing mightily, the two Arrancar hurried after and only succeeded in catching up to Shunsui after they'd traveled several blocks – the city looked nothing like Stark's memory of what the human world had become.

Though there were a few taller buildings, which might have, at some point, held ambition, their age and lack of maintenance was painfully obvious, as was the fact that only few of the city's roads were actually paved. On the very edges of town, a spider's net of muddy dark alleyways stretched amid low wooden shacks, covered in palm leaves; towards the center, the wooden shacks gave way to the few concrete buildings and some strong electric lights, which only served to emphasize the overall, dreary state of disrepair in which everything – roads, houses, gardens - lied. A heavy smell of fish, rendered overbearing by the oppressing humidity rose from the still distant port. There was nothing of Karakura's fascinating novelty and efficiency, and the now broken, gracious spires of the temple, magnificent in their construction and detail, still stood in brutal contrast to the pale aspiration of modern life around them. In truth, Stark thought, landing aside Shunsui, the entire place was an odd, misshapen imitation of the cities he'd known, in a past lifetime when the cohabitation of utter splendor and lurid squalor had been the rule.

_It's not goats I've been smelling_, he thought. _It's simply poverty._

'Ah,' Szayel muttered. 'A hands on demonstration of the legendary Gotei tactic of 'Rush at it head first and without a helmet, perhaps it will become frightened of my stupidity and run away'?

A neon light on the side of the building they'd been standing on blinked and fizzled unpleasantly, hiding Shunsui's retort.

The Shinigami's choice of an observation point seemed deliberate, although, Stark noticed, Shunsui did not seem at all sure of himself; even though the pull of the reiatsu storm around them had greatly increased, the thin wisps of energy which rushed towards the great flame had no true _intent_, and the discomfort they caused still allowed Stark to sense the disorder in the Shinigami's reiatsu. Shunsui was looking for something, Stark thought.

And he truly did not know for what.

'Can you still sense nothing?' the Shinigami asked, oddly facing away from the spires which lay just ahead, and pointedly standing between the two Arrancar and the ledge of the building, as if he'd been trying to prevent them from looking beyond.

'No,' Stark answered. 'Nothing at all, except for...'

He shrugged and lifted his palms, indicating the turmoil around them.

'…and this is distinctly _interesting_,' Szayel Aporro said, almost to himself. 'The reiatsu in the air is similar to the one I normally use for healing, in that it is deprived of…'

His search for the correct term made him smirk.

'Personality,' he shrugged, a second later. 'It feels as if it were artificially deprived of flavor. Yet, it is not artificial.'

No, Stark thought, tensing his fingers and capturing a dense blur of blue particles from the flow. It was not – it responded to his power just like all other natural energies.

'It is somehow raw,' he observed, feeling surprised that Szayel had nodded.

Shunsui nodded too, with a bitter, surrendering undertone, and turned away from the two Arrancar to face out, towards the spires – Stark followed, and, within a second, the tension on the Shinigami's features spread to his.

It seemed as if all inhabitants of the remote city had packed themselves into the area around the temple, overflowing into the nearby streets. Man, woman and child alike stood still as statues in silent witness to the calamity in front of them – the high flame which stung at the sky, eerily surrounding bare rock, did not even cause them to blink. There must have been tens, no, hundreds of thousands of humans, who'd seemingly abandoned their houses and simply walked out into the streets, wearing whatever little they had been wearing, or still clutching the objects they'd been using whenever the mass trance had engulfed them all. They even breathed as one, Stark thought, suddenly understanding why the Shinigami had stopped precisely where he had, and why he'd been so keen to assure himself that no one else was sensing energy.

_Hundreds of thousands of humans,_ Stark thought. _And not a single soul among them._

'Extraordinary,' Szayel said, adjusting his glasses; the reflection of the tablet in the thick lenses made both Stark and Shunsui look towards the object in unison.

The odd, unidentified energy seemed to flow directly into the bodies of the humans below, sometimes leaving one only to dart to the next; thousands of distinct dots were growing increasingly entangled into a thickening, pulsing network, as if the wisps of reiatsu had been seeking to build a gigantic cocoon.

_What for?_

Drawn by curiosity, and having completely forgotten to complain, Szayel Aporro drifted forth, over the heads of the crowd, his tablet glowing in his hand. By sheer luck, for his attention was thoroughly consumed by the instrument, he evaded Shunsui's grasp and came into the open.

'Szayel Aporro, what the hell are you doing?' Stark harshly whispered, hoping that the Octava would at least stop or turn around.

'Taking a more accurate reading and feeding it back to the 12th for analysis,' Szayel Aporro spoke, at the height of his voice. He did, indeed stop, but, by the time that he did, he'd already been standing several feet away from the ledge, floating directly above the heads of the mass below. 'This is truly…'

'Get back here,' Shunsui muttered.

'Oh, please!' the Octava sweetly responded, only lowering his tablet to gracefully dismiss the Shinigami's words, and very existence with a wave of his fingers. 'It is quite clear to me that you know what is causing this, Kyoraku Shunsui, and it is also clear that you are kindly attempting to make my evening better by not telling me directly, and presenting me with a challenge…Aaah,' he screamed, darting to the side, to avoid something Stark and Shunsui could neither see nor sense. 'It moves!' he declared, in utter delight.

'Would you kindly get back here before you get hit by something, Octava?' Stark hissed, feeling increasingly nervous.

'You make it sound as if it were a bad thing,' the Shinigami mumbled. 'If I were you, I'd be more worried that whatever hits him will hit us next…'

'Precisely,' Stark growled.

Szayel Aporro narrowed his eyes.

'Do not be daft, Primera. The humans below cannot see…'

Stark and Shunsui had the same instinct, and obeyed it at the same time; as both moved towards the Octava, with the clear intention of grabbing him by the collar and dragging him back to the ledge, Stark even wondered if Shunsui also shared the urge of punching the hapless scientist in the stomach as soon as they returned to relative safety – he fancied he'd soon find out, but did not get a chance to.

'…us,' Szayel finished, just as Stark's fingers curled about the collar of his uniform, and Shunsui grabbed him by the sleeve.

The entire gathered mass of humans looked up as one, and time froze.

'Right,' Stark said, still holding on to Szayel's collar as if he'd been afraid that even the most minute motion of his fingers would draw further unwanted and aggressive attention.

'Well,' Szayel concluded, still not lowering his voice and not allowing even glaring evidence to contradict him, 'that is distinctly _not possible_.'

'It distinctly just happened,' Stark whispered, allowing himself to drift slightly away.

The humans' unblinking stares remained unwaveringly upon them.

'How can a mass of humans with absolutely no reiatsu, even more so, with no apparent higher cerebral activity possibly see us?' the Octava smirked.

'…we can…,' the crowd said, from below – the sudden, thunderous murmur of the phrase died to a cacophony of screams, yet though they seemed to be gripped by sudden, agonizing pain, the humans did not move. Their faces and necks twisted and frozen, they simply screamed towards the sky in a hideous chorus, which was as harrowing as a sudden attack might have been – the sound, which resounded for miles, lasted for endless minutes, sometimes receding to hisses, growls and gurgles, only to rise with redoubled intensity a mere second later. '…we can…taste you…' some of the voices wailed, the words barely articulated, as if the humans below had been beasts only then learning how to speak. The sound was now wavering in intensity, and echoing through the group as if it had been coming to them from a labyrinth of cave tunnels, as seemingly random groups of humans fell to quiet prostration, while others continued to scream and growl. '…we can…smell…you…'

'Gods,' Shunsui whispered, looking entranced.

The screaming rose to a new high, before drowning to sudden and painful silence; for a split second, Szayel Aporro's tablet became so bright that all three had to look away. A gust of cold energy split the darkness, and, as the necks of the humans below twisted and cracked at improbable angles, the upsurge carried a single one of them up.

The body of a small, barefoot old woman came to hang limply before them; her weathered joints were twitching minutely, as if electric currents had been running through them, or rather, as if an unskilled puppet master had been trying to attach strings to her joints. Her head hung limply between her shoulders, only jolting uncontrollably to the side every few seconds, before finally jolting up as if she'd been hoisted by her hair. The old woman's eyes flew open, revealing cataract blanched irises on white sclera.

'_I_ can _see_ you,' she nonetheless said, her lips drawing upwards to reveal rare, yellowed teeth and white gums, and causing all the deep wrinkles which criss-crossed her sun burnt skin to grow even deeper. Her voice, which sounded like the voice of a kindly grandmother, despite the harsh dialect she spoke, had not reflected triumph. Merely surprise; the triumph had belonged to another - voice, Stark had thought, drawing back, or set of voices – he could not truly tell. The sound which overlaid the woman's words seemed metallic and slow, as if one had re-composed the sound of a human voice by grating nails across sheets of metal.

'Hell,' Shunsui said – the word had sounded so eerily unlike a curse that both Arrancar turned towards him in astonishment. 'True hell,' he added.

'What?' Stark asked, looking to the Shinigami astonishment, rationally willing himself not to believe what he had heard. 'What are you saying?'

_My senses are opened,_ the old woman said, in childish glee.

'I said that if we were to find what I was hoping I would never encounter I would explain.' The Shinigami whispered, drawing back in his turn and sustaining Stark's glance. Once more, there were no signs of dishonesty on his features, and the turmoil in his eyes was undeniable, and for as much as the Primera willed himself to think otherwise, the Shinigami was convinced that he was speaking the truth.

_I no longer grope and paw…, _the old woman observed, lifting hands as dry and cracked as tree bark to her blind eyes, and observing them in childish wonder.

'The cycle,' Shunsui said, his voice resounding of utter defeat, 'is not only the flow of soul energies towards Soul Society and Hueco Mundo, by the means of the human world. There is, there always was a secondary balance of the truly flawless and the truly flawed, that are so far removed from the primary cycle that they are almost never encountered.'

'In five centuries…' he said, his voice almost fading.

_I no longer grope and paw with ignorance,_ the old woman cackled, straightening her chin. _I know…_

'In five centuries,' Shunsui reiterated, 'I have seen the gates of hell opening to claim a soul less than ten times…'

The old woman before them took sudden interest in his words, and drifted forward, her neck cranked at a humanly impossible angle; the minute twitching in her limbs had stopped, and her movement had gathered a form of fluid mesmerizing grace.

'I know,' she said, speaking directly to the Shinigami, who took a step back. 'I have smelled, tasted…you…_others like you'_ something suddenly hissed, from inside her chest. 'I am awake; I know…'

Shunsui forced himself to stand his ground under the scrutiny, placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and softly followed.

'…just as in my entire existence within Sereitei I have only thrice seen anyone ascending to the King's court.' The Shinigami whispered over his shoulder, not taking his eyes away from the old woman before him. 'This form of energy…this arrangement is far older than Soul Society itself; we've never had more than the occasional opening of hell's gates to prove that this was not only a legend.'

'We never even knew for certain whether the King's court…' he ended through, clenched teeth.

_Whether the King's court was true heaven, _Stark understood.

'I am awake. I know, therefore I am,' the woman spoke, truly finding her voice – the hiss that had erupted from her chest was now wrapped around her natural voice, in multiple metallic tones. '_I am_!' she screamed.

The Primera's hastily summoned Hierro was a long second too late; the woman swept her hand through the air in fast cutting motion. An invisible force, similar to a reiatsu wave, bit into all three men, knocking them back across several hundreds of feet, and easily projecting them through the brick, iron and glass of the surrounding buildings.

'Out of my way…Minions…' she hissed, drifting upwards, as the metallic tonality of her voice gathered. '_Late_ minions – out of my way.'

Her motion had been too fast for recourse, but not truly damaging – still, as the Primera started to his feet, cursing under his breath, the mass of debris that surrounded him suddenly dissolved into an indiscriminate, writhing puddle, brick and iron melding together, then rising to entangle him and keep him still. His Hierro repelled the first wave of grubby, brown tentacles, but a second, more insidious one rose in its wake, managing to weave itself thinly enough to seep through.

'They think they can stop me, hinder me?' the woman above cried, drifting ever upwards, and toward the flame. 'It is late, now, too late – the veil is broken, the barrier weakened. One strand I have pulled,' she continued, her voice growing unnaturally deep, and forcing her throat to inflate as if it had been about to burst open. 'One strand, and how it all unravels, seam from seam!'

'More strands I'll pull!' the metallic hiss returned, flowing over the still turned heads of the humans. 'Come, puppets, sacrifices, carriers, all! Give yourselves, your souls, strength, give fuel to the fire and burn away the veil of this reality, for another awaits!'

As one, the human mass turned to the flame which burned on nothing, and decidedly walked towards it, then stepped into it, without thought. Stark and Shunsui watched in fixed horror as the unthinking thralls moved at the same pace, streaming into the pyre from all directions. The flames had no sooner licked the ends of their clothes when they fully combusted, hundreds within a split second, their ashes billowing into a vast cloud and blowing towards a sky as blind as the eyes of the old woman who conducted it all, with her arms spread in a deadly welcome.

Stark pushed himself up, all but willing himself free of his trap, his reiatsu absorbing the bounds within a mere second; he could already sense the trail of the Shinigami's Shumpo above, and, but another eye blink later, the two landed on either side of the gigantic pyre, pushing the masses back with Kido and Pesquisa. Though they tumbled and crushed each other, stepping or falling on other's bones and skulls as they fell, the humans remained silent, then staggered to their feet.

Then, despite all reason, continued to advance.

A second, more focused wave of Pesquisa swept them off their feet and pushed them even farther; Shunsui looked over his shoulder in surprise, as if wondering why Stark had assisted, and, in truth, the Primera himself found his movement had been little more than a reflex he had yet to unlearn.

'I'm doing more harm than good,' Stark said.

'No,' Shunsui answered. 'Severing void!' he called in the next breath, causing a shimmering, white barrier to fall between the humans and the flame, in the space that the Primera's push had just created.

He abruptly spun, fully intending to re-cast his spell and assure that similar barriers blocked the humans' path from all sides, but froze in mid-turn as he stole a glance upwards, towards the entity that was staring at them in turn.

Stark conceded to his surprise.

'_That_,' the Primera said, watching Szayel Aporro's white uniform and absurd pink hair rise behind the old woman's figure, '_I_ have never seen before.'

Without thought, hesitation, without even looking away from his tablet for more than the blink of an eye, Szayel Aporro drew Fornicares and took advantage of the opening that the attack below had created.

The Octava was upon the old woman's side in a flash, his angled sword slipping between her ribs and clearly pushing out through the back of her chest – he was repelled equally fast, but, probably thanks to his tablet, he'd already started to Sonido away. The sheer afterblow of the front he'd avoided threw him minutely off balance. He was fast enough to redress; Fornicares' blade sent a thin, cutting crackle of lightning, which hit the woman's body across the chest. Though her body was all but severed in half, she did not budge.

For some unfathomable reason, Stark imagined Szayel Aporro saying – _Hm._

The Octava circled about, his motion halting abruptly, as if his instrument had suddenly thrown up an alarm flare; realizing he would probably not get the angle he was seeking, the Octava switched Fornicares from his left to his right hand, and stabbed blindly and awkwardly, without even properly extending his arm, for fear of losing the tablet he'd barely managed to grip with his left.

He'd aimed to skewer her head, but the strike landed too low, passing clearly through her neck. The blood gushed out, red and vibrant in the powerful light of the flame, but the woman's body did not even tremble. Instead, it was Szayel Aporro's turn to get unexpectedly struck – the Octava curled on himself, barely managing to hold on to Fornicares' hilt, and was thrown toward the ground at speed that might have made contact lethal to his lithe frame and frail Hierro.

Shunsui's reflexes were faster than Stark's; the Shinigami vanished to Shumpo, and caught Szayel securely across the chest, albeit, Stark noted, with a minor twinge of hesitation. The break of the speed was sufficient for the Octava to redress and Sonido, and both re-appeared by Stark's side, hastily stepping away from each other as soon as their feet had securely touched ground.

'Szayel Aporro,' Stark said, using the brief respite to look up. 'I am impressed.'

'Merely verifying a hypothesis,' the pink haired scientist shrugged. Despite his detached demeanour, the damage that he'd taken from the two blows was apparent in his ghastly pallor, and in the fact that his natural reiatsu was insufficient to mend the bruise that had already begun spreading from below his uniform's collar towards his _perfect_ face. 'The both of you can stop bothering with those,' he said, casually waving his hand and dismissing the thousands of humans, as Stark used his Pesquisa to repel the humans who had yet again come dangerously close. 'They are dead.'

Shunsui gritted his teeth.

'Can you be sure? I would not want to…' Stark asked, in yet another ancient reflex; Szayel grinned sweetly at the irony of it all, and nodded.

'None of these has had a pulse for the past hour,' he said, pointing at the writhing mass of humans. '_She_ is dead,' the Octava dryly added, pointing upwards – the old woman's clothes were thoroughly soaked in her own blood, and her left shoulder and arm hung loose from her body. Yet, the ravaged shell still stood upright, looking down. 'Whatever form of energy is driving her body, she'd be standing even if I'd taken her head off…'

'You wish to combat me?' the woman spoke from above. 'Minions of the fools above…husks of souls…You wish to combat me?'

She waved her hands outwards, repelling Stark and Shunsui, who'd thought that the answer was self obvious, thus drawn and set upon her, with such force that the trails of their reiatsu crossed the dark sky with the intensity of falling stars. The air, which was already hot and stiflingly humid, turned as heavy as lead, making each breath an effort – Stark landed on one knee, cutting a clear path amid the mass of entranced humans, and the blood of those he'd crushed spattered across his features and muddied tunic.

Szayel gracefully landed by his side a split second later, and Shunsui came up from behind, making Stark wonder at the fact that the Shinigami had had sufficient control over his Shumpo to not crush all in his path. The crowd about them was eerily unimpressed by their presences, and continued to draw towards the gigantic flame; the path that Stark's landing had cut was immediately closed, as the humans walked on, with bloodied bare feet. All recoiled from the fangs of the Primera's projected Hierro, but continued to stream around it, like an unstoppable body of water.

The three looked at each other in silence; the flame roared and split, bending forward and biting at the crowd as if driven by monstruous willpower of its own – one of the tongues of flame swept over Stark's Hierro, making him cringe, and drawing a hundred foot long line through the solid mass of bodies. Ashes swirled towards the sky above them, where the visible sphere of energy that had begun to gather around the old woman's body pulsed steadily, expanding with each swipe of the flame.

'It is too late, too late for combat.' The shattered body of the old woman said. 'My master, her guardians come, her champions!'

A hiss, a sound akin to a sword being drawn, but amplified a thousand times over resounded through the night. Tall buildings collapsed, severed in half by an invisible, taut string as the flame flared ever higher and wider, increasing with each human body it consumed – at yet another hiss, the old woman's body was torn asunder, not burned, but simply pulverized from within, droplets of blood and torn flesh cutting through the light which surrounded her, and scattering far and wide.

Stark and Shunsui cursed in unison, then lifted their forearms to shield their eyes against the flame, which had flared wide and flat, sweeping over the entire scene in one single monstrous outflow. The all too few humans it had not reached stood for a second longer, blank eyes and blank faces pointed forward, into the painful explosion before them.

For a single moment longer.

Szayel Aporro wordlessly placed the tablet behind his shoulders, and, drawn by magnets that must have been sewn in his uniform, the device clicked solidly into place, glowing dully. Rows of tiny numbers surfaced and began to flow over half of the left lens of his mask.

'Are we prepared to consider a draw?' the Octava asked; to his left and right, Stark and Shunsui frowned and remained silent. 'Aah,' Szayel sighed, sounding deeply aggrieved. 'I predict I shall not be enjoying this. Here they come,' he said, to no one in particular and with no note of alarm.

The flame collapsed, as if it had been sucked into a vacuum, and swift, stifling darkness covered the earth; as if the monstrous breath which had suddenly swallowed the flame had also breathed in their last life energy, the human bodies fell, limp and lifeless as logs. The flow of numbers across Szayel Aporro's mask stopped for an instant, and the Octava needed no further prompts. He lifted his bloodied sword over his head, and opened his mouth.

_Whisper…_

'Erm,' Shunsui said, in utter astonishment.

'You may wish to cover your innocent eyes, Shinigami,' Stark advised, over his shoulder, just before darting away from Shunsui's side.

…_Fornicares._

The Shinigami was not wise enough to take the advice, and once the blade had fully disappeared in the Octava's throat, the look and feel of Szayel Aporro's resurection consumed his entire attention; his eyes widened in shock as the scientist's lithe frame bloated to grotesque proportions. The Octava's uniform burst at the seams, and powerful, pink reiatsu streams burst forth, casting a sickly light over the field of human bodies which lied all around them. Red, white and purple strands of energy solidified and writhed against each other, gathering the form of tentacles – a single one snapped outwards, gracefully catching the tablet in mid flight, as the eerie, un-webbed structure of butterfly wings spread out, over a lower body formed fully of wavering feelers.

Well heeled white shoes securely against the ground, Szayel Aporro straightened, and flicked his hair back, giving the disbelieving Shinigami one of his most ravishing smiles.

'You may also wish to dodge,' he sweetly advised.

Shunsui did not heed the warning in time. He barely had time to look over his shoulder.

Solid darkness struck him, drawing blood, and dragging him along for tens of yards – a hellish chorus of growls and yelps concealed the Shinigami's voice, but the reiatsu wave of his swords' release rose well above the turmoil of the other energies. Bodies and pieces of debris were swept away, as the Shinigami spun about himself and parried in blind, pushing himself in the air and away from an opponent he could feel but not see.

On cue, and still not taking his eyes off his tablet, Szayel unleashed a barrage of ceros, all pitifully weak and seemingly random, yet still connecting with something. The beams fizzled out against invisible solids, as several more unnatural screams ripped through the air. Realizing that they were surrounded, the two Arrancar drifted upwards, rejoining Shunsui.

'What the hell?' Shunsui asked, his hat long lost and his pink haori covered in ash and mud. The cut which stretched across his chest was not serious, Stark noted, but the contact with his assailant had bruised him severely. 'I understand that we cannot see them, but why can we not feel them?'

'I suspect they are made of the exact same reiatsu that surrounds us from everywhere,' Stark answered, looking down at the eerily shifting darkness. The fact that none of the entities was individually discernible was unpleasant, but could also mean that they were not particularly strong, he thought. The more worrisome notion, however, was the general reiatsu storm, and the fact that it could take not only possess living humans, but also the fact that it had somehow learned to gather physical shape, within the space of a few minutes. Its vastness, and not its intensity was what concerned the Primera.

Out of fortunate instinct, Stark sidestepped just in time, allowing an invisible blade to hiss just inches from his face, from within his Hierro; the only warning he'd had of the approach had been air movement. At his side, Shunsui dodged in an equally uncontrolled manner, almost knocking Stark off his already insecure footing.

Szayel Aporro sighed.

'Hm,' he said, in utter boredom, before one of his lower tentacles flexed and distended, a large bud pushing out from its tip. With a lightning fast flick, the pod hurtled towards the ground and smashed against a stone statue next to the temple. A fine, rose colored powder billowed outwards, adhering to the ground, to the walls and flowing out to cover the entire area around the temple, to the newly revealed creatures which had nearly cut down Stark.

The veiled moonlight, as well as the sudden disappearance of any other source of light rendered it difficult to observe them in any detail - rose colored and many only partially covered in the fine dust, giving the strange effect of only half or a quarter of a disembodied being floating just underneath the surface of a stream. They were, nonetheless, real. They numbered a half dozen, each approximately two meters tall with smooth, cylindrical bodies that vaguely reminded Stark of the squid they so much liked to serve in Soul Society. However, where there might have been tentacles, spindly thin limbs sprouted out which grew and sharpened to take the appearance of scythes.

They circled below, appearing and disappearing within the mass of reiatsu, with ever shifting contours, making it seem as if their movement had been nothing that the willful solidification of the reiatsu at various points – no wonder that one of them had come so unpleasantly close, Stark thought, clenching his teeth and instinctively reducing the radius of his defensive barrier.

As if they'd sensed the move, the monsters surged upwards, rapidly closing the distance.

The dark weave of Stark's Cero descended to meet them, surrounding the entire group and burning into the ground below with devastating effects. In an instant, the center of the town was simply gone - buildings, roads and still human bodies, reduced to vapor, dust and twisted slag. Stark took a deep breath, looking away and wondering at the instinct which had cut him loose of the already dead humans, and simply put them out of his conscious mind. Whatever sense of triumph he also felt proved futile and short lived.

In a twinkling flash of blue lights and the swirling clouds of Szayel's powder, the guardians reappeared just above the dust that Stark's cero had sent billowing upwards, and headed for their targets with redoubled speed. This time, all three men dived down to meet them, yet ran only into the sticky consistency of a river of molasses; as Shunsui's blades unleashed a long, cutting line of energy, the guardians instantly phased, become little more than wisps of blue light, allowing the attack to glide through them, and explode below, just as if they'd never existed at all. Within the blink of an eye, they'd risen the same height as the trio, their scythe limbs slashing through the air, seeking exposed flesh.

Stark finally drew to parry, feeling almost relived to encounter something solid, and Shunsui's crossed blades severed one pointed, jagged limb fell at first contact, causing it to fall through the swirling mists below and leaving a dark tunnel in its wake. However, as soon as their attack met resistance, the guardians phased again, passing through both Stark and Shunsui to swarm upon Szayel Aporro, as predators sensing the relative weakness of their prey.

Szayel's reaction left the Primera mulling over the fact that he'd wished the scientist had been just a tad less confident in _all_ of his abilities – though his speed and his skill with the left arm left little to be desired, the Octava's first three successful parries simply did not possess the physical strength needed to repel the assailants. By the time that Szayel had decided to bring his tentacles about himself and form his shield, two scythe arms pierced deeply into his thigh and the side of his stomach, jerking spasmodically as they rent his soft flesh.

Against all logic and reason, Szayel did not shriek.

Stark was by his side an instant, at first aiming to slash at the guardians, but then realizing his mistake and stopping short. If they phased away once more, the Octava would be the only one at risk from his attacks, and, as enticing as the thought of seeing Szayel torn limb from limb might sometimes have appeared, Stark did not feel the inclination at that particular moment. He hesitated, assessing his options, and wondering if the Octava could survive one of his Cero – one of Szayel's tentacles snaked forth, quickly encircling the body of one of his attackers, and flinging it into the distance, with no seeming regard for the fact that the sudden, brutal movement had torn at his own flesh.

The creature yelped in pain when sticky acid from the Octava's appendage covered it whole; the fluid seemed to prevent it from melting away, and Stark wasted no time in taking the open opportunity. The guardian was slashed in half and reduced to silence in the same blink of an eye, its clearly cleaved halves not melting away into the sea or reiatsu, but simply hurtling towards the ground. This victory was short lived as well – sensing that the stronger enemy had once more taken distance, a new assailant rose by Szayel's side, hasting to take the place of its slain companion. Stark cursed under his breath, and only sheer good fortune helped him bar the path of another. A pink haze crossed the sky above, causing the Primera to hastily summon his Hierro and curse once more.

_Kaze Tensei. _He'd recognized that one all too well.

The gyrating cone of wind Shunsui called slammed into Stark, Szayel and the solid guardians like a freight train, tearing the creatures free of the Octava's body, and hurtling them off in various directions with naught but trails of black blood to tell where they'd landed.

Szayel himself might have heavily fallen all the way back to the ruins of the city had Shunsui not easily caught up to him in a blur of Shumpo.

'A basket of fruit _you_ certainly aren't,' Shunsui said, obviously finding relish and relief in the macabre humor. Szayel could only give bloodied gasps in return, but the killing fire in his eyes gave away his response easily enough.

'Trust me,' Shunsui said with a disgusted grimace, as he deftly sheathed one sword so he could dig out the remaining two of the Arrancar's reiatsu vials. 'I find this far more revolting than you do.' With that, he popped the cork of one of the vials of liquid energy and force fed the concoction to the frail scientist. At first it, seemed to do more harm than good; the Octava curled about himself, cocooning into a tightly packed bundle of his tentacles, and leaving the Shinigami to wonder if his action had had any meaning.

'If _I_ can keep them solid,' Szayel hissed, precisely when Shunsui had straightened and all but decided to leave the Arrancar to his recovery, '_you_ can kill them.'

'I have noticed,' the Shinigami answered, looking through the mists of rose tinted dust around them, and hoping to notice signs of movement before danger approached. Screams and yelps, and the sound of crossed weapons resounded somewhere beyond, and around, sometimes drawing close, and sometimes all but melting into the distance. The bundle of tentacles at his feet pulsed a few times, then stretched abruptly, not as if a man had been standing within it, but in the unpleasant, reverse imitation of a droplet of blood dripping from a narrow crack.

'I think then,' Szayel said, gracefully stretching his thin tentacles aside, and revealing himself once more 'that you will find my lack of gratitude as unsurprising as I found your _valiant_ gesture.'

Shunsui stole an incredulous look to the side, taking unpleasant note of the fact that for however relaxed Szayel's voice had sounded, the Octava looked far from recovered. He could not, nor wanted to see if the Arrancar's torn hip had regenerated to any extent, but the wound in his chest was far from fully healed. The segments of thick white tentacles that covered his torso had not grown back in full, leaving an unpleasant, gaping hole in the Octava's armour, only to reveal the myriad of tightly wound, tiny tentacles that formed his flesh underneath it.

'It is not that, Octava Espada,' Shunsui answered, in an equally casual tone. 'It is that I have this involuntary reflex of intervening for damsels in distress, and you certainly looked like one…'

He'd expected the insult to have some sort of echo. Szayel merely turned by half, with a soft smile and sensuous warmth in his eyes.

'Why, Kyoraku Shunsui…' he purred, making the Shinigami take a step back in horror. 'I do believe you are flirting.'

The fact that Szayel suddenly straightened his wings was all the warning Shunsui received before finding himself coated in an deceivingly sweet smelling and sticky fluid – the viscous substance, which had liberally flowed out of the Octava's appendages, writhed indecisively around the Shinigami's ankles. Too shocked to allow his disgust to immediately surface, Shunsui took a second to look about himself, and eerily registered the fact that Szayel had had the presence of mind to lift himself minutely off the ground, and not let whatever he'd just excreted dirty his shoes.

'Let's stop playing, shall we?' the scientist growled, keeping his focused, golden gaze on Shunsui – as if possessed by a will of its own, the slimy coat of fluid slowly slithered off the Shinigami, leaving him to wonder at the fact that he had not even truly been _wet. _All around him, the fluid began to bubble and rise. Ill shaped lumps formed within the mass, at first appearing like the work of a clumsy clay sculptor, but quickly gaining definition and solidifying into familiar human form.

A wave of Cero explosions drowned out the sound of Shunsui's profuse cursing. Not at the fact that tens of copies of himself had darted forward as one, plowing destruction the writhing mass of barely solid reiatsu which was rapidly closing in from all sides, and not even at the fact that Szayel Aporro had chosen to manifest his irony by having the last of the clones tilt its wide hat in the original's direction before springing forth.

No, Stark thought, shaking his sword clear of whatever ooze passed for the guardians' blood, and stopping right above the two. If anything had irked the Shinigami, it was the fact that all of his clones were not only wearing perfect, regulation issue white haori, but they were also, undeniably, well shaved and cleanly waxed.

'More telegrams from Hell, Szayel Aporro?' the Primera shouted, trying to make himself heard over the shrieks of the creatures, and the howls of tens of powerful whirlwinds. The Octava didn't answer; he simply propelled himself upwards, his pupils dilated and moving rapidly, and his breath painfully shallow – the small twinge of amusement that Stark had managed to conjure vanished immediately. For however impressive, Szayel Aporro's demonstration of ability would not take them too far. His army of clones was, indeed, forcing the remaining enemy reiatsu to rip asunder and writhe uncontrollably as it attempted to regain shape. The pink particles, which remained attached to increasingly smaller, solidified portions showed that the enemy's energy rose to tall waves and fell to deep whirlpools - yet, in the absence of his machines, and, perhaps, because the form of the clones' reiatsu was both new and terribly complex, Szayel Aporro was posing a crippling amount of effort.

He would not be able to hold it for long, Stark guessed; he looked over his shoulder at Shunsui, biting his lower lip and cursing Lilinette's absence. A single metraletta would have sufficed to burn through the alien reiatsu before them, and covered a wide enough range. His Cero alone would not accomplish that, and, given the fact that despite its obvious confusion at the shape of the attack, the enemy, whatever it was, still had sufficient control over the massive energy of its constructs, it was probable that a Cero would simply scatter it out of the Octava's range. For what was even more unpleasant, the steady hum of the unformed reiatsu around them had kept increasing throughout, threatening to feed the solidified portions if they were not vanquished soon.

'Can you contain this, somehow?' the Primera asked, not bothering to raise his voice. The howling wind would not have allowed Shunsui to do anything more than make out the words from the movement of his lips.

The Shinigami hesitated, pointedly glancing at the Octava and making Stark clench his teeth in anger.

'Yes,' the Primera hissed. 'Whatever ability you manifest in his presence, _he_ will, sooner or later come to replicate. I scarcely think that you should be considering that, at this point…'

It was Shunsui's turn to cuttingly glance over his shoulder – only for an instant. Then, as if the world around them had been nothing but peace, he grinned widely.

'I was considering you were withholding your resurrection for the same reasons, Primera,' he smoothly responded, causing dark strands of fury and destruction to flare along Stark's blade. 'Forgive me. It's only now that I realize that the rumours are true, and you no longer have one. Follow,' he commanded, in the very next breath, not leaving the Primera time to dwell on the sting.

Winds thousands of times more powerful than the entire army of imitations could muster gathered within the blink of an eye, drawing the enemy reiatsu in without recourse – the sea of rosy particles was pulled into a slithering pillar, along with human corpses and some of the clones who'd been unfortunate enough to be standing directly underneath the gigantic Kaze Tensei, and even threatened to rip Szayel Aporro's wings clear off his shoulders.

The Octava cringed, but did not pull aside as quickly as Stark, who'd positioned himself by Shunsui's side would have thought wise. Instead, Szayel Aporro clenched his fist, causing whatever remained of his clones to instantly liquefy. The semi-solid substance was quickly caught in Shunsui's attack, momentarily sealing the lower end of the cone; it was only when the darkness of Stark's Gran Rey Cero exploded within the confines of the Shinigami's hurricane, consuming rose tinted energy and viscous fluid alike, that Szayel Aporro let out a piercing, and by now thoroughly expected shriek.

Silence stretched for a few long seconds, as if the darkness itself had been threatening to grow solid; the glowing sphere of energy above had thinned into a rim of pale, golden light, reminiscent of a nascent Garganta. It hung over the broken towers of the temple, drawing an eerie line between the indifferent sky, and the wasteland below.

Save for the fact that Szayel Aporro slowly sunk to his knees, nothing moved. Stark breathed in and out. Kyoraku Shunsui kept his swords at the ready.

The end crept upon them with the gentle sound of an ocean breeze.

Drawn by unseen forces, the vast mass of shapeless reiatsu which surrounded them began to stir, weaving to form thin, frail seams, which floated about each other, and rose towards the rim of light – at first, giving a sensation of movement which was barely more than the illusion of being submerged in a weak mountain stream. Momentarily entranced by the feeling, Stark removed his glove and let the energies flow amid his open fingers.

…_we can see you…_

He looked up in surprise and incomprehension, catching Shunsui's glance.

…_we can feel you…_

Having recovered enough of his energy to stand, or simply mesmerized by words which had not truly been spoken, but which all of them had heard, Szayel stood, still staggering slightly. The rim of light curved upwards, no longer reminiscent of a Garganta, but oddly, of a toothy version of Ichimaru Gin's smile; mild streams of energy wove into whipping torrents, and Stark saw neither reason to linger, nor to outright announce the fact that he'd reconsidered admitting to a draw.

Though the density of the reiatsu around them and the considerable violence of its pull made his movements slow and awkward, the Primera pushed himself up, stretching his ungloved hand before him – he shook his fingers free of the acid coating of foreign energy which had settled upon it, in a glittering, golden layer, and willed the barriers between worlds to open before him. Silvery cracks emerged along the night sky, rapidly spreading outwards and pulling at the edges of darkness; as if a crack had opened along the bottom of an overly filled pool, the enemy energy was briefly pulled towards the new opening, and for the first time, Stark not only felt _it_ as a single, unitary and impossible whole, but found himself drowning in its confusion.

'Move,' Szayel Aporro hissed, from behind, momentarily interrupting the Primera's concentration, and heading for the Garganta without even looking over his shoulder. For reasons unknown even to himself, Stark paused, redoubling his efforts at maintaining the gateway, but still looking to the Shinigami who'd remained behind, frozen in his sense of duty.

'Discretion is, at points, the better part of valor,' Stark remarked, sustaining Shunsui's blank gaze.

'Aizen…' the Shinigami began – whether he'd finished the phrase or not would remain a mystery to the Primera; he still guessed the other's worry, and allowed himself a second of commiseration. Indeed, Stark thought, Aizen would probably not lift an eyebrow at the fact that whatever he had unleashed had just massacred hundreds of thousands, nor would he care to drive it back to wherever it came from.

The ocean of reiatsu shook its confusion, and though it was nothing more than an incorporeal mass of energy, Stark's sensation was as real and undeniable as if he'd just watched a veil lifting from someone else's eyes, and heard them howl in bloodthirsty triumph. The uncontrolled flow of reishi towards the opening of the Garganta stopped, the particles settling in a form they had quickly learned how to muster. Hundreds of twisted human arms, whose glistening, black skin was barely distinguishable from the sky latched on to the edges of the barrier. Not attempting to pull it shut. Attempting to rip it wide open.

'I tend to not repeat myself, Shinigami,' Stark said, pressing on; to his credit, Szayel, who'd already made it within twenty feet of the edge of the Garganta, brought his wings into a wide and surprisingly powerful swipe, managing to clear the arms which grappled the upper side of the opening. The realization that if the pull continued, they would probably be unable to seal the gateway from the other side had come to him as quickly as it had come to Stark. A still undetermined Shunsui finally followed, at a far slower pace than the Primera found desirable – it did not much matter.

Szayel Aporro was flung to the side, falling prey to an unspeakably violent pull, and though Stark dodged in blind, his legendary speed was to no avail. More blackened arms materialized from thin air and entangled him from all sides; the fact that his Cero vaporized them all made no difference. The reiatsu solidified before the destructive wave had even fully vanished, grappling him with redoubled strength – neither the Primera's Cero, nor the foul smelling acid that Szayel had suddenly covered himself in, and not even Shunsui's hurricane could now force it asunder for long enough to allow any of the three significant movement.

'You wished to combat,' they heard, so clearly that, for a moment, they froze in incomprehension, even forgetting to struggle. 'Minions…Late minions, do you not see…'

The voice's metallic hiss broke into the horrid imitation of a cackle.

'Do you not see…_us_…'

Yet, indeed, within another second, they saw.

A body – no, Stark dazedly thought, forgetting to struggle, a madman's impression of a body rose before them, on the pull of invisible strings, coming to stand just in front of the ever widening, golden gap. It still carried the old woman's head, but even the face, with its contorted features, had lost all semblance of humanity; bloody, empty sockets, glowing with unnatural light now stood for its eyes, while the toothless mouth had been torn open, the lower jaw and tongue hanging slack and only sustained by a strip of flesh. The rest of the figure looked equally ill-assembled, as if it had been constructed out of multiple human parts randomly pinned together. The gash that Fornicares had left was gone, and the thing's shoulder and arm no longer hung loose from the body – a pasty, red mass of gnarled muscle and bone, still slowly oozing from the body's entrails, held the whole together, pulsing slowly and evenly, like a monstrous, exposed heart.

Behind it, something akin to a serpent stirred in the golden light.

A panicked explosion of pink reiatsu announced that Szayel Aporro had reverted to his natural form, and regained Fornicares; the trick was only briefly useful, and the Octava slipped free of his trap only to become ensnared again within a second. Thousands of blackened human arms sprouted from the sky, transforming it into a surreal, gruesome version of an algae forest, which only strengthened the sensation of drowning into the ever thickening reiatsu.

The old woman cackled once more, and the entire energy laughed with her, the grating, metallic sound reminding of sharp claws upon an iron board. 'You'll learn, minions,' she said, the voice erupting from her misshaped chest and causing it to heave from within. 'You will learn to die, as we learn to _be_…'

A first, then second arm, suddenly spun sharp into sharp spears and broke against Stark's Hierro; in the distance, another found Szayel Aporro's fresh wound, and drilled inside it. The Octava tensed, clenching his teeth, and the appendage snapped loose, as if whatever Szayel's body had been made of, underneath deceitful layers of extravagant clothes and perfect skin had neatly severed it – still, despite the fact that his reiatsu had begun to flare dangerously, adding to the crushing energies which already caused Stark's senses to become numb, Shunsui could not concentrate it enough to even mimic a Hierro. Hastily summoned Kido protected his ribcage, but rapidly corroded before it could completely shield him; a dark spear shot down his right arm, slithering under his skin from shoulder to wrist before ripping itself free and tearing the Shinigami's arm open. Flaunting all reason, Shunsui managed to hold on to his sword.

Stark cursed under his breath, and looked up once more, with redoubled concentration.

Responding to his call, the Garganta tore wide open, slashing at the starless dark, and causing the myriad of arms that pulled at its edges to become loose and flutter aimlessly about; things stirred in its depth too, shadows of great lumbering creatures with massive, bone white masks, moving in the sudden, silvery light. Shunsui painstakingly looked over his shoulder, with a glance that was half pleading and half infuriated.

'Do not…' he began, only to have his breath and the words cut off. The Shinigami's left arm had grown purple from his struggles against the hold, giving the undeniable sensation that his bones would soon give in.

'You have to be joking,' Stark muttered, finding no further resources for voicing irony, but oddly feeling it. Who'd have guessed, he thought, that even when confronted with such monstrous of an attacker, the Shinigami would still be concerned about the crossing of a few Menos Grande?

The first one began to slowly crawl out of the Garganta a second after, yielding to the pull of its instinct – the gigantic, lumbering creature grasped the edges of the gateway and looked about itself, leaving Stark to wonder if it had been one of the rare few who could experience curiosity. Another Menos pointedly showed it aside, and begun to wail.

The Primera clenched his teeth, stealing a quick glance at Szayel Aporro, if only to ascertain that the scientist would be of no assistance in the endeavor. Even if he hadn't been bleeding from an increasing number of shallow stabs, Szayel, who had, by all accounts, fully bypassed the Gillian stage, probably lacked the energy signature that instinctively lured Menos and their Negacion to the aid of other Hollow trapped in the outer worlds.

_Hollow…_

Stark's Hierro faltered.

'Shinigami,' he said, only to himself – nonetheless, Shunsui turned his pained and sweat covered features towards the Primera; it took him less than a second to recall and understand that whatever protection the Espada had conjured would exclude him. He grinned stupidly when he did.

'Quincy,' Kyoraku Shunsui said, in the form of a farewell, as the warm light of the Menos' Negacion descended about Szayel Aporro and Stark alone, cutting though the inescapable bonds, severing the human limbs which still lay below, and forming inexpugnable shelter as much as it formed an inescapable cell. Once it had formed about him, there was no conceivable way in which Stark could lend the Shinigami any assistance. Even if he had wanted to.

Of all the things that Stark might have said and thought, watching Shunsui's desperate struggles against the reiatsu shackles that kept him captive, and acknowledging the fact that the hastily summoned defensive kido only served to delay a predictable _dénouement…_there was only one thing that came to mind.

'Use your Bankai, you arrogant idiot,' Szayel Aporro hissed from the side, saving Stark the trouble of uttering the same words. It was all for the best, the Primera distantly thought. Retsu might have been disappointed by the phrase.

He did not look back as he ascended through the cone of light. The Negacion denied its charge all perception of energy, as well as oddly slowed time and pacified sensation. In the world outside the Gillian protections, the enemy's reiatsu tore and spun wildly, attempting to crush the Negacion's walls, but breaking upon them in wave upon wave of dark ooze. _It_ could not figure a way through, yet that, in itself, meant nothing.

Even if _it_ could not figure a way through, _it_ would soon enough learn that simply killing the Menos would destroy the Negacion as well. It was all just a question of time and good fortunes, Stark peacefully reckoned, and since Szayel Aporro had caught the brunt of the ill fortune thus far, the Primera did not even truly mind the fact that the Menos whose Negacion he'd been basking in was the first one to be destroyed. He merely noted the fact that the Octava had been standing on the edge of the Garganta, his fingers wide open and ready to be closed in a fist, while glancing down and probably wondering why Stark had not used his Sonido, as he noted that by now, the Shinigami's haori was deep crimson rather than offensive pink.

He even gave himself time to wonder why Szayel Aporro did not seal the passageway as soon as he'd been safely though, before a concentrated mass of tentacles struck him squarely in the chest, tearing at the rounded edges of his Hollow hole.

Rather than feel pain, Stark smelled something familiar; he closed his eyes, and the first memory he could conjure was of a woman's claw-like fingers amid the pages of a book.

_Who'd have thought_…

He'd spent his childhood hating this woman…His Latin teacher…dreading her looks, her hands, her thin hair, her brown teeth, her smell, her yellowed pages, having nightmares in which her hands truly turned into claws, and yet…

_Who'd have thought that centuries later, I'd recall her with warmth…_

Who'd have thought I would ever be glad to smell him, Stark thought, as Aizen's sickly sweet reiatsu overpowered all other sensation, and a vibrant Lanza Del Relampago shot quickly thought the clustering dark.

Shinsou's edge expanded from behind, swiftly severing the woven tentacles which had gone clearly through the Primera's chest; Stark redressed himself, for a mere moment wondering at the fact that he still had sufficient energy left to stand. A mere, deep breath assured him that the feat was entirely not his merit, but he truly did not dwell on the thought. In truth, the Primera considered, stubbornly keeping his glance down and refusing to acknowledge the fact that Aizen had just slowly drifted by him, the incomprehensible vastness of God's reiatsu was not a novelty. It was the least that could be expected of the man who'd cleared the Heavens.

And, of course, upon such an occasion, the man who'd cleared the Heavens could be expected to do nothing but smile, and though he guessed he should have felt relief and gratitude, Stark felt no more than heavy, foreboding anxiety.

The movement of the world and the writhing of energy came to a slow, deliberate stop – the many human arms which still hung from the sky straightened and remained still, their fingers stretched out in Aizen's direction. The wide shadow of gigantic bat wings stole across the sky, concealing them from view.

'You…' something said, its metallic voice grating at the silence.

Stark attempted to focus away, once more pointlessly hoping that if he wished something, anything, out of existence, the Universe would conspire in his favour and erase it. As always, there was no such luck, and he could not ignore the fact that Aizen was still smiling.

'You!' the rim of darkness clearly spoke, as God stood to face the old woman's grotesquely reconstructed corpse. 'You came to us…Fitting,' it roared, 'the only one fitting!'

_We were waiting._

Though the words were yet again not spoken, Stark bent over, pressing his arms across his stomach; he had heard nothing, but he'd sensed the phrase within, as if the ocean of energy had been invading his body and his mind at each breath, its energy seamlessly melding with his own.

_We were waiting to thank you_, he found himself thinking.

Ichimaru Gin appeared by Aizen's side, and questioningly glanced at his mentor as both stood, white uniforms resplendent in the golden light which streamed from the realm beyond. The gigantic shadow of the lurking serpent uncoiled and extended, allowing a glimpse at the endless fires which stretched all around it.

_The hourglass has been toppled and shattered by your will. The seams of their worlds came undone. One string you pulled, and how it all unraveled… How it all topples…_

Stark wished it all out of his mind; he pointedly looked up to the Garganta, expecting that Szayel Aporro would have vanished within it, and willing himself to be surprised and distracted by the fact that the Octava had not. He followed the thin traces of the scientist's energy, and was genuinely surprised by the fact that Szayel Aporro had descended from the silvery rim and busied himself with pushing the last of his reiatsu vials to Shunsui's lips. Stark forced himself to wonder if either of the two was mentioning fruit baskets - despite his efforts at ignoring everything, _it_ clung to monstrous existence.

_Sousuke…Aizen… _it whispered from within. _You are fitting - you set us loose. You set us free._

'Ulquiorra,' God prompted, smiling obligingly.

The shadow of outstretched bat wings stole from above once more, and Stark closed his eyes, smelling the vibrant, oddly refreshing gathering of reishi as the Cuarta formed Lanza del Relampago. Schiffer's spear tore through the old woman's body, reducing it to crimson liquid. The golden light began to fade and flickered in unquestionable amusement.

_Sousuke Aizen…Greet your sins,_ it said.

God gritted his teeth, pushing the vastness of his energy against the fading rim of light; his effort, Stark strangely realized, was both pointless and tardy. The barrier was closing on its own, as, he had no doubt, it would reopen on its own, at the time and place of its choosing.

_Greet your sins, that now revisit the world._

Then, it was simply dark.

* * *

Up next - a whole new world :)


	44. Monsieur's Distress

Evening, all, and thank you for reading and commenting during the long, hot summer! :)

Our invaders do seem to have found quite the roadbloack here, hm? Wonder how Aizen is planning to deal with this one...Guess Stark will soon find out, or at least get a hint in Chapter 43,

Where - Old troubles don't vanish because new ones appeared. But, Stark gets a kiss. Not _ that _kind of kiss...

* * *

There was silence – not the kind where one might have heard the crisp echo of a pin dropping, but deep, heavy silence that pressed against one's eardrums as if one's head had been submerged in water.

Aizen's words too had echoed as if they had reached Stark's ear through some viscous fluid, distorted, profound and prolonged by a myriad echoes. Almost unintelligible.

Except, of course, Stark was too realistic and embittered to let himself believe that he had not understood Aizen's words; such fortunes were few, far between, and rarely occurred when one needed them most.

He swallowed dry, resting his forehead in his fingers, and trying to hide from the sound of Ukitake's breath – that too was distorted and riddled with long echoes, though, unlike Aizen's warm and decisive tone, it was shallow and intermittent. He thought he'd heard the Shinigami say something too, but he could not truly bring himself to care, for it neither lessened nor heightened the sensation of drowning. It simply spread ink-like darkness through the viscous liquid he felt he was sinking in into, heavy clarity and fluid hatred not mixing, but simply existing together, above, below and around.

_At least Lilinette was not there._

_Neither was Retsu._

Stark did not know whether the former notion made him feel some sort of relief, nor did he know whether the latter made him feel somewhat cold; he simply reckoned both notions were foolish, and tried to dismiss them. They still lingered on the edges of his consciousness, just like that fact that during his short absence from Sereitei, two extremely powerful attacks had ravaged the former grounds of the 7th and 9th Divisions, and that unprecedented Hollow activity was taking place in Rukongai.

Both facts had been part of Aizen's speech, but God had not lent them any attention either; in a sense, listening to him speak had given Stark the sensation that he'd been watching another man drown too. He, however, had the suspicion that Aizen's own descent was not one of viscous liquid and darkness. Quite to the contrary, it sounded as if God had been drowning in a pool of Szayel Aporro's finest chemical creations – or perhaps in the incomprehensible wisps of his own mind, in his own delusions, in his own intuitions, knowledge, or lack thereof…

The Primera though he would have vastly preferred the former to the latter. The Octava himself did not look as if he'd taken the possibility into consideration – he was simply too tired for his mask, and thus, his perfect features expressed the _nothing _that lied in his heart.

_The opening of hell was not an unexpected circumstance,_ Aizen had said.

In itself, the phrase had meant nothing, and, initially, Stark had not even bothered to try to guess whether it was true or not. He had known Sousuke Aizen for over a decade, and nothing so far had fallen outside of God's spoken plans. In the end, the Primera thought, it did not matter whether one predicted circumstances or simply adjusted quickly to changes; as long as the end result was the desired one, one could still think oneself a visionary.

It had been the latter part of Aizen's speech that had been harder to swallow. Well, Stark considered, harder to digest. Choices over _swallowing_ were never truly given.

_It was our intention all along that we would overcome this final obstacle, _Aizen had said, smiling towards Gin. _We simply did not know when this final enemy would rise, but, in a sense…_

_Tha' sooner, tha' better, _Ichimaru Gin had chuckled.

It had been then that Ukitake had said something – predictable but uninformed platitudes driven by righteous indignation. Perhaps telling Aizen that he was insane, which was not a novelty, or perhaps warning him that he had no idea what he was doing, or what he was unleashing. The latter phrase was distinctly ironic, coming from Ukitake, who had neither seen the flames, nor the soulless human bodies, nor gazed into the shapeless abyss.

Just like Stark, Kyoraku Shunsui had simply clenched his jaws and looked to the floor.

Ukitake Jushiro might have said something else, too. He might have said that none knew what Aizen was unleashing; that the gates of true hell had been sealed since times immemorial, times before Sereitei, times before Yamamoto, before anyone who still lived and breathed, in any acceptation of the term. That none knew what lied below; none knew how the monster had been imprisoned; none knew what the monster looked like, and thus, none knew how the monster could be fought.

It was this latter part of Ukitake's little indignant speech that had caught Stark's ear, and caused a single, easily defeated twinge of…well, Stark supposed, righteous entitlement of his own.

Had he been alone with Ukitake, the Primera would not have spared him the irony of the fact that Sereitei now feared a monster it had locked in the closet under the stairs for millennia, kept the door tightly sealed, and never known whether the monster had starved to death, or simply subsisted and adapted, _grown,_ to the point where it was strong enough or bright enough to make its way through the basement door and claim its spot in the sunlight.

_Except_, Stark had unwillingly conceded, _that particular monster was_ _us – Hollow, Arrancar, Vasto Lorde, all._

It had been the Hollow who'd made their way out of the closet by strength and intelligence, and it was the Hollow whom these Shinigami had locked away, both species feeling entitled and slighted in turn, both brewing hatred, entitlement and suffering in ever deepening, more scarring cycles, waging their battles and games unaware that below the closet under the stairs, there was another basement. A deeper, darker, damper one. One that none had truly explored, and one that might have even made even the Hollow feel fortunate.

That was where Aizen not only wished to, but was also looking forward to descend. God had no plans of sealing the door that _hell_ had burst through – on the contrary, his long standing plan had _always_ been to coax it out into the open, where it could be fought and brought to submit. To himself, obviously, to the new rule as a by-product – and it was true, God conceded, that he did not know how long this particular battle would last, nor how it would be fought. It was true that he did not know what the impact of losing it would be, nor could he predict what victory might have looked like, other than that his dominion would be complete.

If Stark had had any of his sense of humour left, he might have stood and asked for a standing ovation.

_If Aizen-sama will rule over it all, then it can only be blessed with divine grace – do I hear twenty one cannon rolls? Findor!_

'What of the humans?' he heard himself asking; Stark looked up and about himself, his gaze settling on Halibel, as if she had held the answer to why he had so suddenly spoken up.

Aizen turned to him and smiled.

'What _of_ the humans?' he obligingly questioned.

'He means what will happen to the human world while we fight, lose or win,' Kyoraku Shunsui clarified, precisely when Stark himself was at a loss of how to continue, or whether any continuation had a point. 'The cycle has its crux in the human world – whether Shinigami or Hollow, truly blessed or truly evil, it is the human world and human lives that filter it all. What will happen to them, if we allow energies older than time out into the open…'

'They'll die,' Szayel Aporro shrugged. 'Some of them…Most of them,' he corrected. 'This particular manifestation was three hundred and sixty two thousand humans…Give or take three percent,' the Octava shrugged.

'Less reiatsu than a teacup,' Barragan said, settling the issue.

'The humans,' Aizen said, 'have had truth in their lives. There have been ages of humanity where the spiritual and the physical intermixed freely – some,' he added, his smile reflecting into Halibel's, 'not so remote. They – we – have survived it all before. Why would we not survive it now?'

Stark considered many answers, all pulsating between a drowning man's ear drums.

_Because once long ago they were readier than they are now._

_Because once long ago forces of good had walked among them as well._

_Because once long ago, the battle would have been less fierce. _Yet, most of all…

_Because long ago, the battle might have had a collective point other than one man's ambition._

He remained silent and drowning, his face in his hands, as, the one question stifled, Aizen proceeded to explain how he assumed it would all happen; as Aizen spoke of controlled gateways and gradual wearing down of hell's forces, and of perhaps stifling spontaneous passages, when and if they occurred.

Stark focused away – he felt barely awake, and the familiar _ennui,_ the one that had filled his mind in Hueco Mundo returned as if it had never truly disappeared. Just like then, it mattered little what plans were laid out. He'd find out what his part in them was when God chose to make use of him, which, given what he had seen during the night, would be soon enough. He did not even truly think of his own diminished strength, or wondered if this time around, Aizen would find any use for him at all, beyond cannon fodder…That was not necessarily new.

Perhaps, he considered, attempting to have a look about the room, and take in the faces of the others, it was not new to them either.

Thus, instead of reveling in the unpleasantness of the present and in the uncertainty of the future, the Primera leaned back in his chair, and turned to the familiar unpleasantness of things past.

In all of his _short_ three centuries, Stark had fought.

For what he'd felt was right, at first. To survive, later.

Yet, with each battle, he'd fought enemies that were weaker, either in strength, motivation, or tactic; he'd killed them because he'd known that he could not trust gratitude more than he could trust that fairness existed in all. He'd fought to preserve what he had foolishly considered good; he'd selfishly fought for himself, and for Lilinette, but in all of his centuries and all of his fights, Stark had never fought an enemy because they were _more_ evil.

He'd never thought more evil existed. Or that evil had degrees of comparison.

The man Stark had been before the Primera Espada did not believe that one thing could be _less_ evil than the next, nor that he, of all, would be cast on the side of the less evil; the echoes of Stark's human soul dimmed once more in contact with the philosophical irony.

The Primera simply sunk his face in his hands, and drowned in it all.

His entrance into the fourth division grounds was never easily overlooked. As soon as his heavy mass of his reiatsu so much as turned its way towards the grounds, the healers would promptly become extremely busy in places out of sight and, they mistakenly thought, out of mind, to set their tongues to work in apprehensive or increasingly vicious whispers long after their hands had stilled. Unohana was distinctly aware of this; Stark was aware, if only because of Unohana herself, and thus, on most days, he took great pains to arrive and leave with all due speed and discretion, though he could still not have cared less for their opinions.

This day was not one of those days. Today, he it was not only that he could not bring himself to care less, but that he could not bring himself to care at all.

It was always the mental transition, he uselessly observed, which hurt so much. Death, violence and disappointment had been the norm in Hueco Mundo and he'd had centuries to acclimate to them; furthermore, his human shape and his memories had returned to him long after his survival instincts and newly found strength had acquired a life of their own. It had never truly been a choice. Merely natural adaptation.

By contrast, the past few months of his existence had been a constant struggle, and this time he had had to will himself through the equally difficult reversal - adaptation to life in times of relative peace, hibernation of his paranoid and murderous instincts…and lull himself into the illusion that peace, the illusion that a future, that the mirror of life, as it had once been, would somehow last, this time…The irony was, of course, that despite the uphill battle, despite all of the sharp corners, despite everything, he'd found himself capable of feeling unexpected joy along the way. Surprised by the discovery, he'd allowed himself to savor it, and simply wish for more.

_To what end,_ Stark wondered. _To what end?_

Aizen had continued to weave ambition and deceit, through it all, and whatever sense of peace he had allowed any of them to have had only been another game. A feint within a feint…

A new war was coming, perhaps the one _true _war, and all the carefully tended peace Stark had, with hesitation and wonder, tried to cultivate in the void that stood for his heart, had been ripped away. It felt as if he'd regrown a pair of limbs only to have them ripped off once more.

_A heart which has been frozen can only feel pain again once it melts, and it is only in the contrasting memory of light that darkness truly becomes horror._

_I miss Lilinette,_ he thought.

Stark had always considered himself a solitary creature, but truly, he realized that that it was not the case. It was simply that, where others might have filled their days with dozens of friends and jovial acquaintance, Stark had had Lilinette. Once, that had been enough for both of them, but she was gone now, her loyalty sold to the man who'd been the agent of all their pain, for so cheap a price as a few smiles and a milktose philosophy of balance and failed justice. The thought brought white, indiscriminate rage to momentarily burst in his heart, which quickly consumed itself and died, leaving only indiscriminate, confused ashes in its wake.

In the exhaustion of the past few hours, Stark had keenly felt just how lonely he truly was; it was not just that he could find no distractions of his own – it was simply that he'd substituted Lilinette for the any and all forms of human contact, and he now found himself desperately in need of contact where he didn't have to maintain the front of an Espada.

It dismayed him that that list now numbered only one.

Unohana Retsu did not fill the void in his heart as Lilinette had; that would have been an impossible feat, and though when he had initially continued seeing her, he'd feared he would not be able to recognize the fact that asking her to become whatever Lilinette had been was simply unfair, and that he'd sooner or later end up grudging her, life still preserved its little mercies. He had not; he'd simply grown more and more grateful and more comfortable with the fact that her presence, its warmth and the delicate reverence it inspired placated and dulled both rage and pain. He wished to think of nothing else.

Sometimes, he thought, she even left him with the impression that she did not see herself as his refuge. Stark could not truly believe that she did not know it, but perhaps because of her natural grace, or perhaps because she too sought some sort of refuge in him, Unohana Retsu made him feel strong with no implication that she was the source of his strength.

Sometimes, on good days, Stark allowed himself to fancy that this particular pretense was true. On others, _on this one_, he felt that only seeing her would keep the frail scaffolding of his former human nature they had both managed to recreate from truly crumbling.

His pace quickened and he didn't bother stepping around the numerous members of the 4th that swarmed the buildings. His reiatsu cleared the path, and they either immediately moved out of his way or were roughly shoved to the side as he made his way through a long corridor towards the eastern courtyard where he sensed Unohana's reiatsu burning bright and full.

They were dealing with the aftermath of the recent bombing, he reasoned, feeling eerily and unpleasantly detached from the immediate present. The immense sunlit force of Unohana' reiatsu encompassed dozens of other fitfully struggling presences, all Arrancar, and all reflecting in themselves a portion of her energy's natural serenity.

Stark grimly wondered if she had even heard of Aizen's new doings. He wondered how much she had already guessed. He wondered how much she, the most ancient and revered of the captains, had already known.

However, as he left the corridor and emerged into the deceivingly merry sunlight, his questions, along with his depression, helplessness and, indeed, anything else might have that might have troubled him fled away in the face of surprise. By the intensity of the reiatsu, he'd expected to see her; he could not have been further from the truth, nor could his senses been more confused. Unohana was not there.

There was _an...animal..._in the courtyard.

The yard itself was not insignificant in size. Beautiful, and arranged with the same elegant simplicity that seemed to define its captain, the inner courtyard of the 4th Division's eastern quarter was an immense open area of carefully cut and sanded granite blocks, interlocking to form an assembly space easily large enough to accommodate the whole division. Small patches of well tended grass and trees lined the stone from all sides, gracefully giving way to porches and walls, all the height of four men and the width of two. The creature, whose form was vaguely aquatic and unlike anything Stark had ever seen or imagined, rose at the highest point of its bulbous head to almost a meter above the walls, while featherless wings and an immense, wish-boned tail lazily curled and stretched so that it took up near two thirds of the assembly area.

Neither the Primera's arrival, nor his reiatsu seemed to surprise it. Stark and the creature both remained still for one moment, narrowed, ice blue eyes gazing into the single, unblinking orb that looked back at the Arrancar with benign curiosity. When the thing abruptly and loudly _purred_, Stark jumped slightly in near fright.

The sensation was odd, yet there was no other way of describing the sound- the creature narrowed its single, yellow and perfectly round eye, the diameter of which was almost three feet, and started emitting a deep, slow, and undeniably pleased rumble from its belly and chest. It purred.

_What the hell..._

Still too startled and confused to move, Stark waited as the green flat giant switched from its deep purring to a series of bass notes, moans and whistles that, in all of their alien musicality, left him with the sure impression that it was pleased to see him.

Stark smiled, catching on to the reason why his reiatsu antennae had been so confused.

'Aren't you an odd fellow…Minazuki?' Stark questioned, tentatively scratching the back of his neck, still unsure of what to make of the thing. As if it had been capable of understanding speech, and visibly pleased at being recognized, the creature whistled loudly, and with enough lung to make all the trees of the courtyard sway.

Obviously, this had to be one of Unohana's releases. Though he'd never heard of a zanpakuto being able to function so independently from its wielder, this manifestation seemed to be doing just that; as he focused further, Stark felt what he presumed was Unohana herself flaring in the distance, undoubtedly treating more casualties directly. Minazuki's energies precisely mirrored the woman's own and it appeared to be following in her role as a healer. Only...

The many Arrancar reiatsu he had sensed were nowhere in sight, but undoubtedly _there_; he looked about, and even sent out a light pesquisa, but the return of the energy wave did little to clarify the situation. The Hollow reiatsu were mere yards away, cocooned in Unohana's own energy.

'Did you swallow them, perchance?' Stark asked, incredulous and no longer thinking that the colossal beast in front of him might not understand human speech.

Minazuki trumpeted triumphantly back at him, approving of his intuition. His previous anxiety for seeing Unohana herself temporarily overshadowed by curiousity towards her strange avatar, Stark hesitantly walked forward, stopping an arm's length from Minazuki's strangely bristled mouth. After getting over his unfounded, but still very real fear that the thing would try to bite his arm off, the Primera allowed himself to first gently touch, then rub the beast over its massive head. The texture of its alternatively light green then sandy skin was smooth and vaguely human, but seemingly much thicker and warm, very, very warm; soothing, almost. Briefly, he wondered what Szayel Aporro would have made of this creature and just as quickly he decided that he did not want Szayel Aporro anywhere near it.

Minazuki closed its eye, and the purring returned, loud and deep enough to make the windows of nearby buildings rumble; it even shifted closer, making the ground shake with even the small step it took, and arched clumsily upwards, indicating that it wanted its chin scratched.

The warmth of the creature's skin ascended his arm, giving him such a sensation of peace that Stark almost had the temptation of removing his glove. He wisely did not – perhaps because he feared that the too close contact with his natural weapon might have frightened Minazuki, but also because he suspected that the effect of the zanpakutoh's aura might have been overwhelming at direct touch.

'Alright everyone, let's hurry and get the wounded inside so we can be ready for the next wave!' a voice urgently called from the back; hurried footsteps followed.

Stark looked up from the silent conversation he'd seemed to have been engaged in with the one-eyed beast and turned to regard the approaching party of shinigami, lead by no other than the short little one that Szayel had so terrified in the lab. To their credit, the assembled healers did not let his presence slow them down, though Hanatarou, who seemed a bit less phased by the Espada's presence than his companions normally were, did manage a polite bow in Stark's direction. The little one even smiled sheepishly before joining the others in gathering in front of Minazuki, quickly laying out a number of stretchers. Guessing what was about to happen and still hardly believing it, Stark hurriedly got out of the way as Hanatarou executed deeper, more deliberate bow in front of Minazuki itself.

'We're ready to take them, Minazuki-sama.' The diminutive Shinigami said.

Minazuki gave another low moan as its eye narrowed, then proceeded to open its gaping mouth far, allowing an impossibly long and thick tongue to roll forward, and gently disgorge several dozen Arrancar and Shinigami bodies from its vast stomach. Stark recoiled somewhat at the thick, clear slime that coated their bodies, but, as he curiously peered closer, he noted that, to a one, the Hollows' uniforms sported horrible burn marks, and were, in some cases completely destroyed. Their skin, too, showed the markings of horrible violence, yet they all seemed to be breathing easily and their wounds were slowly closing.

'Another wave will be arriving shortly, Hanatarou.'

Stark quickly turned around as Unohana suddenly blurred into view, feeling mildly displeased that he had not sensed her over her sword's energy.

'We'll be ready, Captain Unohana,' Hanatarou said, with a hurried nod, as the others hasted the first loaded stretchers towards the stabilized patient wards in the northern quarters.

They moved well together, the Primera noted, and there was a sense of order to the rush – as some stretchers were taken away, others were lain down, making the entire procession look like an uninterruptible string of ants, which, by sheer length, reflected the dimensions of the attack, and made Stark yet again wonder how he had not sensed the deflagration.

But then, the Primera thought, biting his lower lip, he should not have wondered – the sekki stone walls of Aizen's quarters on top of Sokyoku Hill were so thick that nothing, neither energy, nor words, nor thoughts, nor reason, could truly break through. And what could have been more fitting? Stark bitterly wondered. Nothing marked a tyrant as much as careful shielding from truth and immediate reality. Well, he considered, finding solace in the dark humour, that, and a really high tower; Yamamoto's old quarters provided for both, and Aizen was, as always, merely using what he'd inherited.

Stark distractedly watched the Shinigami's rush until a gentle sigh caught his ear; he turned to see Unohana tiredly rub her red rimmed eyes with her hand. Still, when she looked back up at him, her smile was genuine, and the serene determination of one who could still find some form of purpose and satisfaction in their work was wholly unfeigned. Quite unexpectedly, he felt the bitter acid of the last few hours despair well up within him again – another war, he thought, another, aside the one that was clearly still raging…he had thus far counted all his conflicts and all of the things that he had survived, the man thought. He wondered if she could still keep track of hers.

'It is good to see you, Stark,' Unhana said simply, her smile tired but real.

'And you, I...' Stark faltered, suddenly unsure of how to put everything that had been bursting within him to words. He did not wish to summon the sorrow and black anger that had begun to circle hungrily about the frail borders of his newly invented safety, but neither did he wish to simply forget about them for a moment's pleasure, only so that they would sit deep in the dark, fermenting and boiling back up the very moment when he was once again alone, and her pain could not distract him from his.

'What happened now?' he asked, awkwardly caressing her shoulder; it was as much a form of affection as he thought was appropriate in full view, yet the woman sighed once more and brought herself close, allowing his arm to rest on her shoulders.

'Coordinated explosions on the grounds of the former 7th and former 9th,' Unohana answered. 'The worst casualty toll and most damage so far…'

Unwillingly, the Primera looked up at the clear sky.

'This was not fire,' the woman said, answering the unasked question. 'I guess…' she whispered, pressing her fingers to her forehead, 'I guess the term _explosion_ is unhelpful. The devices were kido based, and released a pressure wave powerful enough to wipe everything off the ground over hundreds of yards. The eastern quarter of the 7th is all but fully demolished, as is the western quarter of the 9th, while the 8th , which was caught in the middle…'

Her voice painfully trailed off.

'As if they had not suffered enough,' Unohana whispered. 'I know I should not be saying this and place you in an awkward position - I had at least hoped to see Kyoraku alone, yet, though I know he returned from wherever you were, he was not…'

'He wasn't present,' Stark nodded, making her questioningly look up. 'I… it's-it's been a _very_ long day for all of us,' The Primera tiredly followed, still unable to quite find what he'd meant to share of the previous night's events, or even the correct tone of voice.

She sighed, lightly squeezing his arm before taking a tired step away - to their side, and apparently oblivious to the turmoil which stormed in both of their hearts, Minazuki gave a long, happily pulsing whistle. There was no time to dodge.

'Gott!' Stark instinctively froze up in surprise and disgust when Minazuki's tongue suddenly swept over his whole body, nearly lifting him to his toes. The entire group of Shinigami, even Unohana herself, stopped in their tracks. Hanatarou almost dropped the end of the stretcher he was carrying.

Seemingly pleased with the surprise that he'd caused, but unsatisfied with how wet he'd left the Primera, the zanpakutoh whistled once more, shifted his weight from foot to foot, causing the ground to shake, and, after a strong flap of his wings, gave Stark another, even more comprehensive and slimy lick.

'Ahhh...' Stark breathed out, wiping the thick saliva off his face in a daze; the overgrown zanpakutoh began to sing in its bizarre language of bass notes, rumbles and sharp whistles, and rock from side to side, in clear self satisfaction.

Stark looked back up at Unohana, who was staring back at him in equal disbelief – she began to chuckle before he did, at first attempting to hide her amusement behind her tiny hand, but then, as he too started chuckling, giving free reign to her amusement and laughing out loud. Her satisfaction did not last long either – after a doubtful whistle, and a second of consideration, Minazuki afforded its master the same treatment it had granted the Espada, covering her in slime from head to toe in the blink of an eye.

'Minazuki!' Unohana protested, the clearly outraged tone of her voice making Stark, Hanatarou and many others laugh out loud in their turn.

The sword's manifestation simply trumpeted its triumph, and continued to rock from side to side, whistling and rumbling as its body, and the ground beneath it shook.

'I think he's trying to say…' Hanatarou began, his hands still shaky on the stretcher's handles. 'I think he's trying to say that…'

Painfully aware of the fact that his companions and his superior were glancing to him in surprise, the small Shinigami swallowed dry, and grasped the handles of the stretcher with renewed determination.

'I think Minazuki-sama is saying we still have work to do.' He uneasily mumbled.

_That there is always another game, _Stark thought, as Unohana giggled – at her sword's actions, or at the childishness of the little Shinigami's guess - and rested her wet forehead on his slimed shoulder, in plain view of her division.

The sensation did not cure all ills instantaneously; it did not even provide a momentary reprieve. It simply pointed that the road behind had already been travelled, and that the road ahead simply unwound, with no immediate need for painful clarity.

Neither thinking nor feeling thus was Stark's lot, yet, as so many times in the past months he seized the sensation and held it to his heart, as one might have held a breath of sweetly scented air in a drowning world – the little shudder of the woman in his arms, as the procession of stretchers slowly resumed told him that this time, she was having a harder time detaching than even he did; grasping her as tightly as his wet arm allowed, Stark thought of nothing but of how long he'd be able to delay telling her about what he'd found in the human world…about new threats and Aizen's new madness…Old words gathered new meanings, and spun slowly in his mind.

_One at a time,_ he eerily thought. _One war at a time, Retsu._

As if it had been reading his thoughts, Minazuki stopped singing, and let his tail and the tips of his wings droop, giving a single, regretful and low pitched whistle.

'All of this,' Unohana sighed, glancing away from her healers and the unconscious bodies they carried, and towards the sky. 'All of this is so pointless…'

She looked up at him, lower jaw clenched in eerie determination.

'I suppose it is even more pointless _now,'_ she whispered, searchingly gazing into his eyes – whatever his own features had reflected, the wavering glimmer of hope in her eyes instantly waned, not even leaving him time to wonder if she'd guessed, or had simply known the truth all along. 'Oh, Gods, it cannot be that _it _is truly free...' Unohana breathed, looking away, but clenching his shoulder even tighter.

'I thought we had agreed that there are no Gods, Retsu,' Stark simply shrugged.

Oddly enough, he did not feel dismayed by her implied knowledge, nor by the fact that she had not previously shared it with him; for the last few seconds of their embrace, and before the woman regretfully tore herself away, Stark felt little else but selfish relief at not having to share the whole truth himself.

* * *

Up next - Szayel, Halibel, Ulquiorra, and as Cersei Lannister might have it, the first profiteers of the new war.


	45. Dissonance

Good evening, all, and thank you all for reading and commenting :) After all of that trouble and mayhem, Szayel should take a break. The question is, will he...

In Chapter 45 - Where Pinky returns with a (subtle) vengeance.

* * *

'I am _not_ having this conversation.'

Szayel Aporro shifted the small, square mirror in which he had been attentively gazing for the past ten minutes into a new angle, and, as every time before, the motion revealed more damage to his perfect complexion, and prompted a frightened little squeak.

'Not while I have far more important things to consider, such as the fact that after forty hours without sleep, I have an acute need for a facial,' he whined, holding the object closer, and pulling the corner of his left eye up, to see whether the dark ring beneath it receded when his skin was taut. 'Oh dear, oh dear…'

The display, which might have frightened or disgusted lesser men enough to wish to flee, left Ulquiorra unblinking and unimpressed.

'I do not believe I made a _request,'_ the Cuarta said, dryly; behind him, the 3rd seat of the 12th Division, who'd been standing by the door awaiting orders, shifted uncomfortably.

'Yes, indeed,' Szayel Aporro merrily commented. 'The values of sheer politeness and common sense are thoroughly wasted on you…'

The Octava sighed, and folded his mirror away, conceding to the defeat of his passive resistance tactics; he had been trying to get rid of Ulquiorra for the past hour. At first, he'd kept him waiting as he fully healed, then cleaned himself, in a more thorough manner than usual; he'd then made no haste in selecting his outfit, and done his usual morning round about the laboratories, to make sure that the data which had been collected in the human world was being processed with all due diligence, in the vain hope that upon his return to his office, Ulquiorra would be long gone. It hadn't been the case.

'You do, however, have a remarkable and rather jarring propensity for never altering your priorities, regardless of circumstance. Under different conditions, I might find that slightly admirable, yet…' Szayel followed, smiling wide.

Ulquiorra continued to gaze straight ahead.

'I shall be given access your equipment and facilities usage records,' the Cuarta coldly repeated, the weight of his reiatsu being the first and only sign of menacing impatience. Szayel Aporro's grin only widened, and, knitting his elegant fingers on the table before him, the Octava cocooned himself in the strands of his own energy, not really caring about the fact that Akon had winced under the joint reiatsu pressure, and all but melted inside the wall.

'No,' Szayel said, in his most honey-filled purr. 'Out of the question.'

In hind thought, the Octava considered, not letting himself waver under the Cuarta's increasingly strong energy, a man with a less realistic view of himself might have thought that extraordinary situations required extraordinary displays of courage, and that he was merely rising to the occasion. There was perhaps a measure of truth to that; the attacks which had come to pass in Szayel Aporro's absence were doubtlessly the most damaging and best coordinated this far. The Octava had not yet visited the scene, but the instrument readings had provided him with sufficient initial input to conclude that if the charges had been placed next to Sereitei's outer walls, they would have been dangerous to the sekki stone itself.

As was, the two charges had simply wiped out four and a half division quarters, filling Szayel Aporro's mind with glowing intellectual satisfaction at Unohana's obvious progress. She was clearly reaching her full potential, and he'd be required to apply himself to finding a means of detecting the explosives soon enough – a contest of chemistry skill that he was truly looking forward to, and that he would certainly not allow Ulquiorra to interfere with.

'I find your actions incomprehensively unwise, Szayel Aporro Grantz,' the Cuarta responded. 'I have even already superfluously stated my reasons...'

_And how grateful we all are, _Szayel Aporro inwardly sighed, as Ulquiorra began to explain himself once more, in the same flat tone. Perhaps, the Octava thought, if Schiffer could have found it in himself to add just a sprinkle of dramatic spice to his account, the entire thing would have been less mind-numbingly boring. Yet, as the Cuarta had neither talent, nor appreciation for fine performance art, he simply proceeded to restate his logic.

'Since the first few attacks, the Omnitskido has held the unwavering belief that, with minor exceptions, the explosives which caused them were not brought in from outside Sereitei, but rather fabricated within it.'

'And you arrived at this conclusion because your control of all that comes in and goes out of Sereitei is so solid that it leaves no room for doubt,' Szayel Aporro bit back.

'Partly,' Ulquiorra answered, not letting the Octava's irony touch him. 'The more conclusive evidence comes from the fact that while the final product may be reiatsu neutral, the individual make-up components of the explosives are not. Wide area sweeps for the reiatsu signatures have been conducted in Rukongai, and no trace of any of the components was found. They are, however, abundant and fairly common within Sereitei itself.'

'I do not recall having equipment on loan with the Omnitskido?' Szayel Aporro distractedly asked, looking over Ulquiorra's shoulder, and to the frightened Shinigami – Akon quickly shook his head. 'How then, may I inquire, did you do wide area sweeps?'

The Cuarta's eyes narrowed slightly.

'Some of us do not need machinery to sense reiatsu, Octava Espada,' Ulquiorra said, missing the opportunity of putting justified superiority in his voice.

'Ah,' Szayel smirked, 'there is no need for harsh language…Still,' he argued, gracefully waving his fingers, 'I am still breathlessly awaiting the connection between your…doubtlessly substantiated conclusions, and your presence _here.'_

Ulquiorra opened his mouth, but was entirely too slow.

'For you see, Schiffer,' the Octava quickly began, 'I would personally have difficulty in establishing a correlation between fairly common chemicals, which are, as you noted, present all over Sereitei, the 12th division, and, furthermore, the 12th division's equipment and facilities.'

'You make my head spin,' Szayel Aporro purred, batting his eyelashes.

The Cuarta breathed out, slowly and purposefully, while Szayel Aporro was wise enough to keep his amusement to himself. Starting with Stark's policy change, and through Grimmjow and Lilinette's patrols, the occupation of Sereitei had brought Ulquiorra nothing but a slow, inexorable power drain – his skills and personality, which had been so useful in Hueco Mundo, seemed hopelessly ill adapted to a world that was not solely comprised of either thoroughly unmotivated or simply weaker entities.

Halibel, who'd been wise enough not to take on any official responsibilities until she understood her new context, was faring well. Barragan, who'd found use for his natural cruelty and megalomania was faring well, too; Stark was, by all accounts, growing into his role as Primera, while his Lilinette was not far behind – even separated, and deprived of their overwhelming reiatsu superiority, the two proved a force to be reckoned with in sheer ability to honestly adapt and shamelessly exploit. Grimmjow himself was evolving, if not in terms of energy, then in terms of…leadership? Szayel Aporro wondered, dismissing his thought.

_Grimmjow had always had that._

If one were to write an _abstract_ to the Cuarta's position, Szayel's thoughts followed, it would simply have been the fact that all had found their place in the new order, while unflappable Ulquiorra still struggled for his. Pride without reason led the Cuarta to believe that he alone understood Aizen; faith without reason led him to believe that Aizen was exempt to the laws of nature and heart which simply said that no man is ever an island.

Aizen himself was not; he trusted Gin beyond doubt and had sufficient confidence in himself to tolerate others around him manifesting to their fullest. Beyond everything, Aizen was _inherently_ curious, and he always explored his limits.

That was, perhaps, the only one of God's qualities that Szayel Aporro truly admired.

Sadly for Ulquiorra, he gave God nothing to wonder about. Even more sadly, the Cuarta did not think he needed to, which, if Szayel's judgment of curious natures were to be true, must have bored Gin, and then, Aizen himself, beyond belief.

'The correlation between the 12th division and the components is quite clear,' Ulquiorra said. 'The efficiency of the explosives has gradually increased over time, in small but discernible steps. The variation in the composition and portage, and the evolution that undeniably occurred between events, implies that the attackers had access to very sensitive reiatsu balancing equipment…'

'According to _you_, no machinery is required for that – surely, if you can sense the minute alterations in the strength of the respective explosives, no equipment should be required to produce said minute alterations.'

Szayel Aporro leaned forward, just as Akon crawled back.

'Or? Would you care to retract your earlier statement?'

'You are being coy, Octava,' Ulquiorra said.

'I am merely being logical,' Szayel Aporro innocently blinked.

'I shall be given access to your equipment and facility usage records,' the Cuarta snarled, causing Szayel's desk to slide backwards. 'You cannot prevent the Omnitskido from investigating…'

'I would never dream of such a thing!' Szayel exclaimed, clapping his hands together. 'Nor do I think I ever could…However…'

_However._

'The 12th Division will be very pleased to release its equipment and facilities usage records to the Omnitskido.' He swiftly followed. 'When such action will be dictated by anyone higher than the Omnitskido itself; we, like the 13th, and the 3rd are not under your direct authority, and while we may concede to either superior argument or superior authority…you, Cuarta, possess neither.'

'Come back to me…to _us,_' Szayel purred, making eye contact with Akon, 'with a mandate of the New Central, and we will be very happy to indulge you. Convince the Central that you have proper reason to have the 12th pull its records, that our capacity is better spent on investigating your _intuition_ than on processing last night's data – get their approval, and you will be welcome to anything, and…everything you want,' the Octava sweetly said, his long, graceful fingers playing along the mahogany desk.

'Not before, Ulquiorra. Not before.'

The Cuarta breathed in and out again, in a perfectly even, indifferent manner.

'I have given an order, Octava.'

'You have.' Szayel conceded. 'But, frankly… whatever you may think of your past evening, night, and morning, I can assure mine were _far_ more interesting. I am not in the mood for your orders, and…'

It was rare that Szayel Aporro took time to state the blatantly obvious.

'I have seen far too many things today to be impressed with you, Cuarta.' Szayel said, smiling sweetly.

The intensity of Ulquiorra's reiatsu receded for a brief second.

'That is most odd,' the Cuarta said. 'Because I could personally crush you without looking twice, and I could have the Omnitskido about this place within minutes. You have mentioned that I am not endowed with common politeness, yet I find it hard to guess what you imagine my visit is about. I did not require your permission to search the records on my own, and my mandate is higher than yours. I could simply have…'

'Heee!' Szayel giggled. 'Of course you could not have.' He completed, clenching his teeth, and sending his own reiatsu out in a delicate flurry. 'I have no doubt that if you thought you could simply take what interests you, you would not be standing here – you are not standing here because you are polite, you are standing here because firstly,' the Octava began, gracefully stretching his left hand index, 'you realize that the Omistkido has nothing on us on our own division grounds. Secondly, because you know that, if, per absurdum, you did manage to obtain the data you want, you would have no idea what to do with it, other than look at it sideways.'

'You are here because you do not only need my cooperation, you need my help,' Szayel Aporro beamed.

'I am not getting either,' Ulquiorra responded.

'Because I have not slept in forty hours, I have far better things to do, and because you do not know how to ask,' Szayel Aporro shrugged.

'I am beginning to think that it is because _you _have something to hide.' The Cuarta stated, flatly. 'I am also quite convinced that Aizen-sama will suspect the same; it will not be the first time.'

Perhaps, Szayel Aporro thought, Ulquiorra had been aiming for a moment of shock and awe; yet again, his lack of talent for dramatics thoroughly thwarted his intentions and the open threat fell as flat as the tone in which it had been delivered. Fortunately for the overall view of the scene, Szayel Aporro had sufficient talent to compensate. Where any other might have hesitated, and pondered the wisdom of further irking the Cuarta, Szayel simply brushed his hair off his forehead, and smiled.

'That is scarcely a revelation, Schiffer,' he obligingly said. 'I _always_ have something to hide.'

Ulquiorra's fingers tensed against the perfectly pressed sides of his uniform.

'You will give me the data,' he said.

'As soon as you bring me an order from anyone higher than yourself,' Szayel Aporro said, with his most charming smile – in the dark corner of the room to which he had retreated, Akon shivered. The Cuarta's reiatsu rendered the air freezing and solid, and though his features remained indifferent, his fury could not have been more obvious.

Still, Szayel Aporro rested his pointy chin on the back of his hand and continued to look back at Ulquiorra with nothing but polite solicitude, the thin strands of his reiatsu gracefully floating about him, and keeping Cuarta's assault at bay with insane determination.

Though Ulquiorra did not slam the door behind him, Akon jumped a foot in the air with fright; neither the Cuarta's wordless departure, nor the Octava's overly calm demeanor were good news to the 12th Division's 3rd seat.

'He will be back,' Akon dared.

Szayel Aporro leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

'Yes, well, hm…' the Octava sighed, closing his eyes, and lending the shivering Shinigami no attention for a few long seconds. 'Akon?' he asked in an improbably merry voice, precisely when the Shinigami expected nothing more would be said.

'Yes?'

'Summon me two butterflies – direct one to Unohana Retsu at the 4th and one to the 1st Division, and…'

'Kaname Tousen?' Akon unwisely guessed, earning himself as murderous a glare as he'd ever seen the Octava deliver.

'No,' Szayel stingily replied. 'Though your attention to my personal affairs is duly appreciated, and _will_ be remembered. To Tia Halibel. I shall personally see to Tousen.'

He sighed and straightened.

'I suspect my friend Schiffer is half way to Aizen-sama's office by now; I have no worries about Tousen, but I will need to make sure that I have Gin's ears before that.'

Akon nodded, keeping his jaws clenched.

'Bring me the butterflies and begin pulling the equipment and facilities records,' Szayel ordered, standing from his desk and stretching with feline grace. He did not miss the Shinigami's suddenly alarmed expression, and smirked unpleasantly – not in surprise at the fact that Akon clearly felt or knew that Ulquiorra was on the right trail, but at the fact that his most skilled available resource would probably be_ otherwise occupied_ for the better part of a crucial afternoon.

Sometimes, Szayel thought, sustaining the Shinigami's tense stare, he remembered precisely why he held Lumina and Verona in such high regard.

'Do you intend to turn the records over to the Omnitskido?' Akon shakily asked.

'Of course,' Szayel beamed. 'If everything else fails…'

'If everything else fails,' the Shinigami echoed, unconsciously wringing his hands, and hesitating for a further moment, before looking into Szayel's eyes with renewed determination. 'I shall summon your butterflies, Szayel Aporro-sama,' Akon said, and although a scathing remark over how hopeful the Shinigami had sounded immediately formed on the Octava's tongue, he sighed once more and kept it to himself.

'Do me a favor, Akon…' he said, as the Shinigami opened the door, to haste away. 'Empty gaps in databases are as suspicious as whatever has been deleted might have been. Please attempt to give me some reason for faith in your intelligence, and do not wipe anything clean. Overwrite it with something insignificant instead.'

The Shinigami froze and swallowed dry, then nodded, without looking over his shoulder.

* * *

'What do we think?' Sun-Sun asked, breaking the overly long silence.

Uncharacteristically, Halibel remained quiet for a few further seconds, then turned away from her antechamber's window, sat down and shrugged.

'I do not know what to tell you,' she said, making Sun-Sun shudder at the tired sound of her voice. 'The events have been discussed early this morning, at a joint meeting, but there was no clear plan of action as yet.'

'Wha'?' Apache frowned, standing away from the wall she'd been leaning on. 'Joint, like with the Shinigami an' shit?'

'Yess, Apache,' Sun-Sun sighed. 'That iss what joint impliess in normal human language.'

'Hm,' Mira Rose mused, forgetting to pounce on Sun-Sun's arrogant uttering. 'That means stuff's thick, if Aizen-sama is letting the Shinigami captains out. Them lot ain't spoken to each other in like ten months…'

Halibel nodded thoughtfully, and closed her eyes, feeling that the insides of her eyelids were coated with some sort of acid fluid.

She had not been asked to join Aizen's expedition to the human world; mostly because, as Gin had quietly assured her that the forces Aizen would encounter did not warrant a full mobilization. Gin's assurances had carried little weight, however, given the fact that the events in the human world had captured the Creator's full attention, and overshadowed Sereitei's own turmoil – thus, though she had not been directly involved, Halibel had been unable to even sit still until the expedition had returned.

And then…

The long meeting that had followed still played in her mind, growing more fantastic at each repetition – it was, Halibel thought, once more falling prey to her restlessness and walking towards the window, as if she had been watching the same opera over and over again. The script – the things that had been said, the knowledge that had been imparted remained the same. It was only the characters, their _costumes_ that evolved further each time, morphing into ever more stylized and pronounced masks of themselves…Aizen-sama, the ruler of Heaven and only now truly all that lied beneath; Ichimaru Gin, God's divine shadow; Ulquiorra…Ulquiorra, she thought, sighing, whose mask was the only one which never changed or evolved…Barragan, whose human form eroded, leaving the gruesome avatar of death to stand in for his part in Halibel's memories, and Stark, who faded further and further at each recollection, and yet, though his face and his body seemed to melt into the background, his silence, his pointed withdrawal from it all made him all the more present.

It had, perhaps, been Stark's bitter silence to assure her that the things Aizen had shared were true; he'd looked so tired, so lost, so unwilling and so cowardly in his lack of faith…Ironically, it had not been Aizen's perfectly measured, almost triumphant speech to seep into her mind and show her the full vastness of the _thing_ that they had just uncovered. It had simply been the dimension of Stark's fear.

_I wish I'd known him less,_ Halibel distractedly thought.

'Where was Grimmjow?' she suddenly remembered to ask, looking over her shoulder to Apache. 'He did not attend,' she added, a bit harshly.

'He was in Rukongai for almost the whole night,' Apache shrugged. 'He said he ate a menos,' the Fraccion proudly giggled, undeterred by Halibel's reproachful frown.

'Yeh, well, he's a stupid liar, there ain't no menos crossing…' Mira Rose rushed to contradict.

'Was too! And hold ya stupid mouth shut!' Apache retaliated.

Sun-Sun and Halibel sighed in unison.

'The two of you are sso embarrassing and disstracting…' Sun-Sun muttered, shaking her head. 'Why would even Grimmjow lie about ssuch a thing? It is not as if conssuming a menoss is ssuch a great feat. The relevance of this, however, iss that the pathways to Hueco Mundo are getting wide enough for menoss to come through.'

'Yes,' Halibel approved briefly.

_The barriers between all worlds are weakening. As is, only fair – there is only one ruler, and thus, there should be only one kingdom._

She tried to recall whether she had ever loved Aizen as consumedly as she did at that very moment, or if she'd ever been prouder of his vision and courage; the force of the feeling almost made her stagger, and she grabbed hold of the windowsill.

Sereitei lied before her and beneath her, stretching into the horizon in all directions, suddenly too small of a world, the center of it all…and yet, nothing but a morsel of the whole.

One kingdom, stretching from heaven to the very depths of hell.

_And the courts of Heaven, filled with ambition and might._

Unlike the others, who _feared, _Aizen had been strong and decisive; they had cleared the heavens, thus there was no reason to fear hell. On how precisely they would face down this new foe, Aizen-sama had kept silent, his mischievous smile telling Halibel that he too, was unsure, but looking forward to finding out. They would have time, but not much of it – the gates of hell had been sealed for millennia, and none preserved the living memory of how the feat had been achieved, nor record of the ritual that had been used. Yet this, Aizen had said, was unimportant; they would not seek to seal this new world away, but seek a way into it.

To fight it, and bring it to submit.

The hell butterfly floated gracefully about her face, before settling on her hand, and she looked at the tiny creature with a mild frown, grudging it for interrupting her thoughts.

'Yes, Szayel Aporro,' she sighed, sensing the Octava's energies, which imbued the butterfly's wings.

'Apologies,' the man's voice purred in her thoughts, as the insect on her hand fluttered. 'I shall keep this brief. I find myself in need of rather urgent guidance on a matter of some importance...'

She looked down at the butterfly, knowing that the creature would transmit her reluctance to Szayel Aporro.

'Go on,' Halibel said, nonetheless – it was not that she was in general uneager to help the Octava; unexplainably, she'd always actually liked him, or at least appreciated his efficiency far more than any of the other Espada. Despite his eccentricities, he found him easy to work with, creative, interesting in public, and, often, _very_ enjoyable in private. She normally thought little of lending him assistance when he requested it. Furthermore, she always knew that whether Szayel Aporro required special materials or extra resources, they were always put to good use. It was just that the day so far had been crushingly tiring.

She shook her head, to chase away the thought, and mentally apologized to the scientist – he had been to the human world, then sat through the same meeting that she had, and yet he was still awake, and clearly keen on going to work.

'Go on,' she repeated.

'I have had a rather unsettling visit from Ulquiorra a few moments back,' the Octava said, in a voice that betrayed mild traces of alarm. 'Unlike one might expect, even after the past night, he seems…distracted by the events at the 7th and 9th.'

Halibel frowned, suddenly berating herself for having let the latest explosions so utterly slip her mind – she focused her attention away from the butterfly and looked out the window once more, attempting to see the effects of the attacks. She frowned even further when she could see neither smoke, nor dust in the distance.

'The Cuarta seems to operate under the assumption that the explosives which the attackers have been using have been fabricated inside Sereitei itself.'

Despite the fact that she normally kept all emotional expression to a minimum around her fracciones, for fear of encouraging even more flamboyant displays on their behalf, the Tercera could not withhold a sigh, and actually rolled her eyes.

It figured, she thought, in utter lack of surprise. Though Ulquiorra had made some captures and managed to bring some would be assailants to swift punishment, the Omnitskido had been helpless in identifying the source of the explosives. It was also true that the attacks had decreased in frequency, yet, they had also seemed to increase in ferocity with each new wave – and that, Halibel knew, had left Ulquiorra equally baffled. His strategy of strongly controlling Sereitei's links to Rukongai, and of tightly controlling movement within Sereitei itself, had not worked. In fact, Halibel had thought, the tactic had been an unmitigated long term disaster: in absence of proper communication and information sharing between the Omitskido and the other overarching central authorities, such as supplies and even research and technology, Ulquiorra had had to rely on a limited number of Arrancar, who were too few to properly cover all of Sereitei's borders and points of interest, but also completely deprived of any intelligence that could not be obtained by torture and intimidation.

Though offers of assistance to the Omnistkido had come from both Halibel and Szayel Aporro, Ulquiorra had always snubbed them, maintaining that the Omnitskido needed to operate in absolute independence.

Halibel sighed. In her opinion, which Ichimaru Gin quietly shared, the Secret Mobile Corps should probably been a little less _secret _and much more _mobile._

'That is a more novel and creative excuse than I would have anticipated,' she said, at long length.

'Oh, perhaps,' Szayel Aporro quickly answered, his voice now truly laced in alarm. 'But Ulquiorra's unexpected creativity does not end here – he is actually seeking to requisition all of the 12th Division equipment and facilities usage records…'

'Excuse me?' Halibel exclaimed, causing all her Fracciones to stare at her with widened eyes.

'I would read this as an indication of the fact that he suspects the explosives are being fabricated on the 12th Division's grounds,' the Octava whined. 'A thoroughly preposterous and deeply _slanderous_ allegation – not only to the 12th Division, but also to our friends and collaborators…' Szayel Aporro purred, in a tone that left no room for doubt and left the implications perfectly clear.

The Tercera narrowed her eyes and loudly gritted her fangs underneath her visor.

'Indeed,' she hissed; Halibel had not made a secret of the fact that she regarded Szayel Aporro Granz's tenure as shadow over the 4th and 12th was probably the most successful of them all. Unlike Ulquiorra and Barragan, and, perhaps, unlike Aizen-sama himself, Halibel had never regarded the confessions of the Shinigami captains, at the time of the operation in North Rukongai, as truthful. She had assumed that the three captains who had affirmed their collaboration with the resistance had merely taken the single course of action that was available to them, under the circumstances, and the fact that they had stepped forth _in corpora_ made Halibel even more suspicious. In the end, a group confession offered multiple scapegoats, but no true personal accountability, which was probably what the Shinigami had been hoping for.

Unohana Retsu seemed like a firebrand, and like an admirably loyal woman – there was no doubt in Halibel's mind that she would join her companions' _confession_ despite a lack of personal involvement with resistance activities, to even further blur the lines and stretch the Omnitskido's resources in pointless investigations at the 4th. It was, perhaps, even more telling that the next attack had struck at the 13th, in the Division of the only one captain who had not confessed to any wrongdoing. In any event, it was Halibel's opinion that Szayel Aporro had not been lax in his supervision, and that the sole decimation conducted at the 4th had been a freak event.

Furthermore, as a result of the fact that she found the Octava's special talents fascinating and novel, Halibel had never failed to endorse large scale usage of 12th Division prototypes, for activities as menial as maintaining a record of trade wares and supply levels, to continuously monitoring the number of naturally evolving Adjuchas in Hueco Mundo, and to the all important supervision of the pathways between the human world and Soul Society.

An attack to the reputation of the 12th, and to Szayel Aporro's control over his Shinigami was thus a covert attack on Halibel herself, in a time of great uncertainty for all.

'I am not concerned with giving Ulquiorra what he requires,' Szayel Aporro followed. 'The records we shall surrender upon request will show that his suppositions are simply off base, in all senses.'

'Then,' Halibel began, taking a deep breath, 'what is your concern?'

The Octava paused, leaving her waiting for far longer than she had patience for.

'Szayel Aporro?' she prompted, and though she could not see him, she could sense his smirk.

'I am concerned about 12th Division capacity,' the Octava deeply sighed. 'Though we are well centralised, in terms of information monitoring, pulling eleven months worth of records will consume valuable time and resources. Helping Ulquiorra make sense of the bounty of data will also require concentration and resources, and honestly, Halibel…'

The scientist breathed in deeply.

'Were the circumstances different, I would have no hesitation in surrendering the information to Ulquiorra, and allowing his sad attempt at discrediting _us_ fall as flat as it deserves to. I too find such games amusing, at times,' Szayel Aporro chuckled. 'The Cuarta himself is quite entertaining and laudable in his transparent attempts at personally making the best of a new situation, yet…'

'I do not feel that this is the best usage of 12th Division capacity. In my humble opinion,' the scientist purred, 'the analysis of the data collected last night in the human world should take precedence over anything else, and I am convinced that this was what Aizen-sama expects of me and the 12th Division.'

'Agreed,' Halibel dryly said

'It is here that I require your guidance,' the scientist whispered, in her thoughts. The wings of the hell butterfly vibrated gracefully. 'I am not inclined to waste time on this request, though Ulquiorra has made his intention of escalating it quite clear – I am, therefore, in a conundrum, which you could help me with. If I succumb to Ulquiorra's request now, I shall be wasting my precious time, and renouncing the first potentially crucial 24 hours of analysis; if I do not, and force the matter to escalate, then I shall be wasting Aizen-sama's time, with a dispute that, I feel, is too petty for his ear.'

'Agreed,' Halibel said, again.

She lowered her brow, attempting to put clarity in her thoughts, but briefly failing – Ulquiorra's gall in attempting _this, now,_ was beyond belief. When all thought, heart, and faith should have been poured in the new enemy, and not in the sorry remnants of enemies past, Ulquiorra chose to attempt to advance his own, pointless agenda.

The Tercera Espada was not a woman prone to sudden action. But then, Halibel considered, finally unleashing herself upon Ulquiorra would hardly be sudden. He'd had years to build his position, and long months to make himself useful. Instead, and just as the Creator was standing on the verge of an entirely new battle, Ulquiorra chose to think of nothing but himself and his position in a fad, challenge less, old world.

_The courts of Heaven must be filled with ambition and might,_ Halibel reminded herself.

'Do you have Tousen under control, Szayel Aporro?' she asked, without either malice or irony; the scientist's honest chuckle did not surprise.

'I shall, in a few hours,' the Octava purred.

'Then, this shall stop at Gin.' she promised, straightening, and shaking the dark winged insect off her fingers with telling impatience.

The butterfly did not linger – it simply found its way out the window, in sign that like Halibel herself, Szayel Aporro was not inclined to waste time beyond essential communication.

Halibel spun on herself, leaning on the windowsill and looking at her Fracciones through half-lidded eyes. The three young women remained silent, probably still in deep thought over the half conversation they had just overheard. Surprisingly enough, it was Apache who read it all the fastest.

'Gonna go at Ulquiorra, huh?' the odd eyed girl inquired, with a grin wide and wolfish enough to make Halibel remember why, in the end, she and Grimmjow were so tremendously well suited.

She hesitated before answering, and looked at the floor for a few seconds.

'Yes,' Halibel briefly answered. 'Sun…'

'I sshall tell Ichimaru-ssama that you wissh to ssee him,' Sun-Sun replied, with a brief bow.

* * *

Up next - Shunsui gets in between Lilinette and Halibel. He doesn't enjoy it as much as one might think...


	46. Simple Majority

Evening! Thank you all for reading and leaving us a note :)

...and is there something wrong with Halibel? in

Chapter 46 - Where Shunsui gets an unwanted eyeful..., erm, earful! (Ulquiorra is in a bit of trouble, too. That failing sense of humour again...)

* * *

'Uhm, no.'

The words fell in the silence, like two pebbles sharply dropped on a slab of marble.

Kyoraku Shunsui looked up in surprise; not to the young woman who had just spoken, but to Aizen himself.

He'd expected the first contradiction he had heard in Aizen's presence since the beginning of the occupation would be marked by some form of momentous natural cataclysm – well, _yet another_ momentous natural cataclysm – that would complete the calamity which would soon start to brew in the world below.

Something along the lines of an earthquake. Or a tsunami.

'Excuse me?' Aizen inquired – to Shunsui's amusement, it was also the first time he'd heard Aizen sounding surprised.

'I don't think Ulquiorra's emergency planning is anything even in the zip code of smart,' the young woman said. 'Sorry, don't mean to be rude,' she added, shrugging in Aizen's direction, 'but it simply is not.'

'I believe this meeting was over,' Ulquiorra said, coldly.

But a few seconds before, Shunsui had thought the same; discussions, and especially public ones, were not Aizen's style – in the few times he had actually run across the self entitled captain commander, he could not recall that anyone had either spoken up or queried.

Perhaps it was the regular order of business, Shunsui thought.

Or perhaps, he considered, narrowing his eyes and taking in the fact that Ichimaru Gin appeared tired, and that the Tercera Espada's frown was so deep that it would eventually develop into a permanent crease on her forehead, the sights of the night that had barely passed meant that _they were simply that rattled._

Ulquiorra's communication, which had been sanctioned by Aizen's presence, and thus probably turned into divine mandate, had been brief and pointed: whatever remained of the 8th division would be joined by the 3rd, and run regular incursions to the human world, to identify the demon gates which would doubtlessly follow the initial manifestation.

The new disposition would put an end to patrols that the 3rd division had apparently been running into Rukongai. The fact that such patrols existed had surprised Shunsui, but he'd not given them much thought; they would be stopped, as manpower was needed elsewhere.

Probably expecting that the new _troubles_ would stretch the Gotei's limits, Barragan had flat out refused to run any sort of mission with the Shinigami, and used the opportunity to demand the return of his troop – he'd been refused, and the entire situation had briefly threatened to turn into a stalemate. The two divisions that Barragan held with an iron fist could not simply be left out of the action this time around, yet they could not be sent out without any form of leadership either.

In a sense, the Shinigami thought, Barragan's attempt had been relatively intelligent; the only problem, of course, being the fact that he had obviously overestimated his clout, and the ease with which he could be replaced. As if the Espada's attempt at rebellion had been naught but a minor snag, Aizen had summoned Shunsui out on his stead, in a manner so casual that it could only be labeled as perverse – the fact that Shunsui had no power to refuse the summons, or, quite simply, the fact that his own sense of duty indicated he could ill afford to play attention games while the human world was overrun with demons trapped both the Shinigami captain and the Espada, and simultaneously humiliated them both.

But then, Shunsui briefly considered, Aizen treated putting tools in their places as somewhat of a competitive sport.

Except, of course, that some of the tools did not quite stay put.

The blonde young woman who now represented the 3rd division shrugged once more, but sustained Aizen's glance with determination.

'Aizen-sama,' she said, completely ignoring the Cuarta Espada's intervention, 'I'm not saying we're not going to do what he just said to do, if that's what ya really want to do...'

'Good,' Aizen responded, lifting both eyebrows. 'I was actually concerned for a second,' he kindly smiled. 'Then, what are you saying, Lilinette?'

'Well,' she began, 'the 3rd's almost at complete effective. We was recruiting some folk,' she briefly clarified. Shunsui glanced towards her in open surprise.

_Recruiting? Who_, he wondered, _would have joined this Gotei?_

Oddly enough, the news did not seem to surprise Ichimaru at all.

'Yeh,' he said. 'An'?'

'An',' Lilinette continued, scratching the back of her head with a gesture that Shunsui immediately recognized as identical to Stark's, 'we at the 3rd got plenty of manpower, an' two well…Captains.'

The fact that she apologetically glanced his way immediately after uttering the word made Shunsui frown in surprise. It gave him the strange impression that she understood just how painful hearing them must have been - the same impression that he had had when he had first seen her. Then, he'd thought that the odd shade of sorrow in her eyes when she had noted Byakuya's paleness and his own, helpless fury at the fact that she would be allowed to shadow the 3rd division as an expression of natural childish kindness. But _this_ was no longer a child, and it had just looked as if she rationally understood his position.

'There's not going to be a drain on me and Grimm to do both the human world and Rukongai.' She said. 'We don't do Rukongai more than once or twice a week, anyways, an' we never go out full effective, as there's no need. Either Grimm or me would suffice, for the manner of troubles they got.'

'So, I…Kinda…respectfully request,' Lilinette followed, giving a mechanical and obviously unpracticed bow, 'that you don't cut us off from there.'

Gin and Aizen exchanged a quick glance, but the thought exchange was interrupted before Shunsui could guess their intentions.

'I believe the manner of interests you have in Rukongai are worthy of a discussion onto itself, _Primera,'_ Ulquiorra said, dryly. 'Not of this one, however.'

'She is not talking to you, Ulquiorra,' the Tercera said – the cutting nuance of her voice was eerily heightened by the low, unpleasant hiss which naturally defined its tone, and, trying to keep his attention away from the woman's most obvious, and distinctly glorious assets, Shunsui reminded himself of just what the Tercera's visor hid. 'Do not speak for Aizen-sama.'

The young woman seemed visibly surprised by the intervention, and briefly looked towards Halibel, giving her a tiny nod. The other female Arrancar did not even look her way, maintaining her regal posture, and her glance locked to Ichimaru's.

Shunsui thought he'd heard the Cuarta breathe out _slightly _too slowly.

'Further supervision of the situation in Rukongai is not required, and does not represent a priority at this point.' Ulquiorra said, this time clearly addressing Aizen in his turn – the mere fact that the discussion was continuing, despite the fact that Aizen had already expressed his desires seemed to offend the Cuarta on some deep, personal level.

'Not saying it's a priority,' Lilinette answered. 'It's just…'

'Well, now that ya started…speak ya mind, girl,' Gin shrugged. 'Where two days went, I can do another twenty minutes.'

'It is just that we had just calmed the stuff that was goin' down,' Lilinette continued; Gin chuckled. 'Them people feel sort of OK-ish, an' we cooled some of the worse gangs. It really takes us very little effort to trash a bunch of mean plusses, and keep the noise off. With all the trouble we're having elsewhere, I don't know why…'

'…we would want the additional source of noise,' Aizen said. To Shunsui's surprise, he leaned back in his throne, visibly considering both the issue and the young woman.

'Is just shit we don't wanna be thinking about,' she ended. 'Er, sorry. About saying _shit_.'

'Now ya just said it twice,' Gin correctly noted. 'S'okay,' he chucked again. 'Not like we ain't heard Grimmjow speakin' on this table.'

'Rukongai should not constitute a priority at this point,' Ulquiorra repeated.

'I believe Lilinette just implied that it is not a priority, but a minor issue that she currently has under control, and would like to continue controlling.' Halibel dryly responded.

'No reason to fiddle with what's not broken,' Shunsui said, in turn; the Cuarta's natural first reaction, as well as the speed at which he'd repressed it was nothing short of spectacular. Though his reiatsu had stirred for less than a second, its sheer concentration had blown Shunsui's hat off and caused the floor to creek. 'Just my two pennies,' the Shinigami shrugged. 'Since I'm here.'

For a moment, as Aizen's unpleasantly serene glance turned to him, he feared he would regret the intervention – he did not truly know why he'd spoken up, except, perhaps to signal to Lilinette that for whatever it was worth, he appreciated her intentions.

'Well, well, Kyoraku-san,' Gin grinned. 'Ain't we pleased ya joined us…'

The fact that Aizen chuckled lightly, as if at a joke that only himself and Ichimaru shared, made Shunsui wish to stand up and throttle the creepy, silver-haired bastard with his bare hands.

_Traitors should be hung, not given the honour of a blade._

'How many guys ya got?' Lilinette unexpectedly asked; the Shinigami looked her way, not bothering to disguise the anger in his eyes, yet, the soft, pleading look on her face melted his resolve of not speaking up again in this accursed forum. She needed the help, he understood, in whatever form it would come – the fact that she had evolved so much since he'd first seen her, showed she was new to the higher circles and had no political clout whatsoever.

_Only good intentions,_ he thought, sensing that his anger was turning to bitterness. _There are still some of those floating around._

'Forty,' he dryly responded.

'Between that and my eighty, Aizen-sama…' the girl picked up.

'I estimate you will not have sufficient manpower to contain more dangerous passageways,' Ulquiorra said.

'Ya kidding me,' Lilinette smirked.

'I understand your communications with Stark have _truly_ been limited, then.' the Cuarta dispassionately observed; the words struck some true target, and the girl recoiled for a second. 'The Primera himself was quite impotent against this first, and probably small gate,' Ulquiorra continued, his words managing to drip poisonous satisfaction, while his voice remained flat. 'The fact that you expect a hundred and twenty low level Shinigami…'

To Shunsui, it looked like Ulquiorra had a lot to learn about knowing when he'd won, and not stretching his luck; whatever sorrow he had initially managed to conjure in the girl's eyes immediately vanished, and the heat of her reiatsu suddenly swept over the room.

'So, what you're actually saying is that you're arguing over nothing - that whether I got a hundred or bleedin' ninety eight little Shinigami in tow, is gonna make no difference.' Lilinette snarled. 'Cuz if Stark was unable to hold one of dem _small _nests, I'm guessing we won't really have nothing to throw at a big one, eh, Schiffer? Is that where we're at?' she said, her glance suddenly turning to Aizen.

The Shinigami lowered his chin to conceal a wide grin.

'That is actually a decent and honest summary of the situation,' he innocently muttered, taking pleasure in the fact that Gin's smile had faltered for a moment. 'There is no reason to panic,' Aizen agreeably added; the confident tone of his voice, and the insinuating aroma of his energy descended above them all, as a thick blanket stifling a fire.

'Then there shouldn't be need to act like we're panicking,' Lilinette shrugged, looking at the ceiling. 'If we're not that worried, then there's even less reason to pull my guys off patrol.'

The Creator beheld her for another few long seconds, with the distinct expression of a man looking at a butterfly that he'd trapped in a jar.

_She's truly new_, Shunsui thought, lending the young woman a little more attention. _He doesn't know her._

'You are being presumptuous, Lilinette,' Halibel somewhat impatiently corrected. 'But, Aizen-sama,' she said, slightly shifting her weight, 'I believe that the observation holds some merit. The preservation of a set routine will be quite useful when knowledge of the breach begins to spread amid the lower ranks of Shinigami.'

'Such subterfuge is unnecessary,' Ulquiorra answered. 'Sereitei will respond exactly as the Central mandates.'

'Yeh,' Lilinette mumbled. 'For sure. Cuz you can't control how people move around, but you gonna control rumours an'…'

'Rumours hold no consequence,' the Cuarta replied.

'It may sound surprising to ya, but the shit people whisper to each other is mighty important for the overall mood,' Lilinette pointed, leaning forward. 'Eeeh,' she sighed. 'I said shit again. Plus, we can always pull back,' she added, waving her own error away. 'If we're needed elsewhere, we can return to Sereitei in minutes.'

'Minutes may become crucial,' Ulquiorra said.

'Are you scared o'something, dude?' Lilinette shot, once more leaning forward, and making Shunsui realize that her vest was both wonderfully and woefully inappropriate. 'D'ya see something down there that spooked you?'

The Cuarta blinked, looking her way for a second, then dismissing her out of existence.

'The present planning is designed to make sure Sereitei is at its maximum responsiveness,' he said, staring straight forward. 'We do not know how the weakening of the barriers will progress, and thus it is unwise to split our contingents too thin.'

'Yeh,' Lilinette replied swallowing dry – her voice was carrying no small amount of emotion. 'Maybe, but…'

'I do not believe our responsiveness will be improved by a constant siege of plusses on Sereitei's walls,' Halibel put in, dryly.

Lilinette cast her a quick sideways glance, and frowned – despite the fact that the Tercera had clearly spoken up to prevent the younger one from sabotaging her own point by acting, well, Shunsui conceded, _her age_, there was a distinguishable cold front between the two female Arrancar. One that was almost as poignant as the rivalry between the Tercera and the Cuarta.

Once more, Lilinette's surprise was ignored.

'Since we truly do not know how the weakening of the barriers will manifest,' Halibel added, in the same unwilling, creepy hiss, 'it is not impossible to assume that the barriers between Soul Society and Hueco Mundo will weaken even further. Minor Hollow activity in the outer reaches of Rukongai has already increased to noticeable level, and larger and larger Hollow have been coming through.'

'Nothing above a Menos class has been observed,' Ulquiorra noted.

'But for the three Menos Grande that appeared in the 78th District of East Rukongai, during the course of the night,' the woman said – Ulquiorra's head turned to the side as if it had been turned by a mechanical resort.

'…the hell…?' Lilinette breathed out, at the same time, suddenly making the reasons for her insistence that patrols be maintained clear to Shunsui. She was, he was pleased to discover, _genuinely worried._ '…how'd ya…'

'No such activity was reported to the Omnitskido,' Ulquiorra said, raising his chin.

_That could easily be explained by the fact that you are a thoroughly unpleasant guy_, Shunsui inwardly snickered.

'Yeh, cuz I am not gonna be out God knows where all night, an' the first thing I do is make sure my guys write ya love letters,' Lilinette muttered. 'This was last night, everybody else was doing something else, an' it is not that big of a thing. Was gonna tell y'all myself.'

There was silence.

'…at some point,' she innocently shrugged.

'Now _that_,' Gin said, his tone of voice perfectly matching Aizen's indifferent shrug, 'is definitely not a priority…'

'Though I have to ask,' Aizen said. 'How is it possible that you heard about it, Halibel? You were not detached to the human world, but I doubt you would have sensed something as insignificant as a Menos.'

The woman lowered her head and chuckled; despite the unnatural whistling of the air between her fangs, Shunsui thought that the sound had carried some amount of warmth.

'Despite my _reservations_,' she began softly, 'Grimmjow…_speaks_ to Apache. Apache,' she simply concluded, 'speaks to me.'

'He!' Gin exclaimed, in a tone that would have made even the pink haired lunatic that was now running the 12th envious; by contrast, Aizen's own snicker appeared subdued. 'Who needs the Omnitskido when we have Halibel's three graces?' the silver haired lieutenant laughed out loud.

'Gin,' Aizen scolded softly, noting that Halibel's frown had suddenly returned.

'Is true, tho',' the first lieutenant shrugged. 'You gotta wonder about the point of the Secret Mobile Core if Apache hears more about what's happening in Rukongai then they do…'

Ulquiorra breathed in deeply, and though Shunsui had only run across the Cuarta twice, he had noticed enough about him to know that the reaction was entirely uncharacteristic. Still, not unreasonable.

Gin's quip, he thought, still feeling no sympathy whatsoever, had been distinctly unfair. Despite being kept in total isolation within his division grounds, Kyoraku Shunsui had observed enough in the previous two days to note that Ulquiorra was anything but inefficient. The three Menos, despite the grave significance of their appearance might have had in a world that was waning little by little each day, could not have been more than a passing distraction to the significantly more powerful Hollow. The fact that the Cuarta had not been informed could have been attributed to any number of reasons that were independent of Ulquiorra's will – Lilinette's 3rd had truly not reported them; the event had faded in importance when compared to all the other happenings, or simply – the Cuarta, who'd been in Aizen's council from the moment when he'd returned from the human world, had not yet received the report.

'Oh come on,' Gin muttered, proving beyond doubt that Ulquiorra's reaction had truly been uncharacteristic, but strangely shedding no light on whether he had truly intended his words to be as insulting as they had been. 'Have a sense of humour, will ya? Didn't mean nothing by it…Joke, mate.' He said. 'Joke? Eeeh…' he sighed deeply, in utter surrender to Ulquiorra's motionless features.

'Still, Aizen-sama,' Lilinette picked up once more. 'Halibel's hit the nail on the head – regardless of what we're gonna do down on Earth, we don't want a bleedin' jungle out there. If Gillian start crossing, then Adjuchas start crossing – before ya know it, we're gonna have a bunch of unmade nuisances and a lot of pissed plusses on our hands. That's just not worth ten guys going out there twice a week…'

'Or at least I think so,' she finished, lowering her glance, and nervously knitting her fingers in her lap.

'The two divisions could take turns with the patrols,' Shunsui said, trying to make himself as casual as possible. Gin laughed, and Aizen's smile became toothy, letting him know that he'd tried too much, too soon.

'No,' Ulquiorra said, speaking for them both.

'Nice try,' Gin grinned, so wide that for a moment, Shunsui let himself fantasize that Ichimaru's lower jaw would simply fall off.

'It is odd,' the Captain Commander added. 'I never realized I had actually missed your sense of humour, Kyoraku-san.'

'I wish I would come to miss yours,' Shunsui answered, with a wide grin of his own.

In the ominous silence that followed his words, Aizen oddly wriggled his fingers, at first gracefully stretching them out, then slowly pressing them together, and back under control.

_Yes_, Shunsui thought, not looking away from his treacherous companion. By the awkward tension that he'd managed to conjure he guessed that all in the room knew that under different circumstances, his daring might have had dangerous repercussions, and warranted bloody retaliation. Aizen could ill afford one now.

_The problem with replacing one tool after the other is that at some point, one runs out of tools to replace._

'This issue is of little concern to us,' Aizen said. To Shunsui's disappointment, the Captain Commander had turned towards Lilinette and kept his voice warm and kind, as if the previous couple of seconds had not come to pass. 'We won't waste time on the matter. Lilinette.'

She lifted her glance from her hands.

'Ulquiorra will hold the overall scheduling of troop incursions into the human world. As long as your actions in Rukongai are cleared, and do not harm our ability of gathering all of our strength in case of need I see no reason why you would need to halt them completely.'

He stood, marking the fact that the meeting was truly over.

'Thank you, Aizen-sama,' Ulquiorra said, bowing slightly; in order which seemed to carry the weight of a millennia old ritual, he fluently stood and started on Aizen's trail only after Ichimaru Gin had turned away as well.

'But, Aizen-sama!' Lilinette breathed. The young woman shifted rapidly, giving the impression that she would jump to her feet, and continue to protest beyond the limits of wisdom. She would have been right to do so, however: the half victory was absolutely insufficient. Judging by his stance, Ulquiorra would never approve any of her initiatives, and, in fact, the concession simply seemed another perverse way of seemingly giving all, while actually giving nothing.

One of Aizen's other competitive sport level abilities.

'Not here,' Halibel cuttingly hissed – her words caught Lilinette in mid motion and stopped her short, before the motion could elicit more than a passing glance over the shoulder from Aizen; the young Arrancar gazed at her older companion's half hidden face, looking thoroughly frustrated and ready to give the Tercera a piece of her mind.

Loudly, Shunsui imagined.

To his further surprise, Halibel lowered her chin, almost to the point where her eyes disappeared under her visor.

'Not now,' she repeated; with stiff gestures, and clearly forcing her body to relax and her frustration to recede, Lilinette settled back down. Aizen smiled, accepting the surrender, and left the room, his silent shadows on his trail.

'Well, shit,' Lilinette muttered, as soon as the ornate back door of the Captain's Assembly Hall had closed behind Ulquiorra. She sounded so at ease with uttering the word now, that Shunsui actually chuckled – a single, frozen glance from the Tercera served to quiet both the young Arrancar and the Shinigami down in a second.

Eerily, Shunsui thought that for however stunning her shape, Halibel was probably not overwhelmed with offers of _companionship._ It would take a man with no brain or some other worldly sense of confidence to hold an erection under _that_ stare.

'The reason why I continue to be displeased with Apache's choice of companion,' the Tercera began, slowly rising to her feet, 'is because Grimmjow's approach to anything intelligent is both limited and limiting. You would be wise to remember that, Lilinette.'

The awkward, pointed tension between the two women made Shuinsui's skin tingle.

'Not all battles end in full victory,' she added. 'Learn to accept a mid-way; most adults do.'

'This ain't no mid-way,' the young one returned, in a low snarl. 'Ulquiorra's never gonna approve anything…'

'I did not hear Aizen-sama specifically mentioning Ulquiorra,' Halibel returned, her voice carrying a sweet undertone. 'I merely heard Aizen-sama mentioning your missions have to be _cleared_.'

Shunsui's attention suddenly sharpened, and he berated himself for not noticing the detail the first time around. Indeed, he thought – the victory that Aizen had seemed to grant Ulquiorra had been as void as the one he'd given Lilinette. The difference in perception had only stemmed from the fact that the Cuarta had been composed enough to assert himself the winner, while the young one had been overly fast in accepting defeat.

'Ulquiorra may hold the scheduling, but that says nothing for the clearance - I shall discuss specific clearance levels with Ichimaru Gin this afternoon, in a private forum.' the Tercera said; Lilinette's face, he thought, was like a blank canvas, upon which the colours of her emotions shifted in permanence. 'A forum in which, if you had an attention span longer than ten seconds, you would realize that Ulquiorra is not particularly well placed. My meeting with him is scheduled for half past five; I shall receive you at half past seven, and communicate what I have accomplished.'

'What…' Lilinette mumbled, finding it hard to accept the other's help.

'Please attempt to be punctual,' Halibel bit.

Lilinette's eye narrowed – the colours of her features briefly struggled between injured pride, and the desire of pushing her initiative through at any cost. She oddly found a balance.

'Fine,' she said, her voice sounding different and smooth. 'With only one exception, Tercera.'

Halibel stopped in mid step.

'Given our relative positioning,' Lilinette bit in her turn, '_I_ shall technically be receiving _you_.'

The older woman's eyes widened, and, for a mere moment, she forgot to frown – then, unexpectedly, she laughed, the sound growing from an ominous hiss to full fledged, grating chuckles.

'Don't push your luck, _angel,_' the Tercera said.

To Shunsui, it all suddenly became clear, and, in truth, the man thought, he should have realized it far sooner. The tension between the two was not political rivalry. It was simple, age old _cattiness_.

'Your Stark used to sleep with her, didn't he?' he noted, once Halibel had left the room in her turn. The amusement caused by his correct intuition was brief; collecting herself from the floor, Lilinette stretched her long limbs before looking down at him, and letting her frail shoulders slump.

'Wouldn't you?' she asked; the sense of defeat in her voice brutally morphed her image into that of the child she'd been when Kyoraku Shunsui had met her first.

He oddly regretted having asked.

* * *

Up next - Love and war make strange bedfellows. Lilinette has actually said that before, has she not? :P


	47. Tactics 101

Good evening one and all :) aaand we're back! not that we've actually been gone, just slightly distracted :) Thank you very much for your kind words, as always - and I promise I shall be watching my lay vs lie ;)

Thus, where were we? Shunsui had just gotten himself volunteered for some action, I think, and I think he'll be a bit surprised in -

Chapter 47 - Where folks make friends!...or not.

* * *

After months spent sequestered in the grounds of the 8th, Kyoraku Shunsui found the division grounds of the 3rd as strange as if they had been an alien planet. Not because the architecture of the barracks had been in the least different; not because the trees had been pruned differently, or because the gardens had held different flowers...There was something else, something he could not place within the first few minutes, but which became clearer and clearer as he approached the captain's quarters.

It was not that something was _there_. It was that something was absent, and though Shunsui found the intuition relatively easy to come by, judging by the fact that the Shinigami of the 3rd had no reservation of meeting his glance, and welcoming him with open and genuinely pleased smiles, he had some difficulty in accepting it.

There was no fear in their eyes, or in their body language. There was no fear in the air.

The dark cloud which had stiflingly descended upon the 8th as soon as the shadow officer and his troop had moved in, bringing naught but death and humiliation, was pointedly absent here. The black uniforms moved about freely, without two white uniforms as permanent shadows, and, in truth, a simple count revealed that the sheer numbers of the Shinigami would have made such supervision impossible. Even after the one decimation that Shunsui had learned of, the one that had followed Kira's desertion, the Shinigami greatly outnumbered the Hollow.

A quick glance over his shoulder at 3rd seat Takeda assured him that the man shared both his intuition and his sense of disbelief.

'I've heard they've been recruiting,' Takeda said, through his clenched teeth – Shunsui nodded quietly, lowering his head to disguise the brief feeling of disgust that had risen from his stomach and must have reflected on his features.

The mere notion that any Shinigami would join, or return to a Gotei under the control of Hollow was indigestible; none, he thought, should have treasured their career prospects or loved their swords so much that they would pursue them in a world where they blatantly held no more meaning. In the absence of any trace of coercion, such behaviour reeked of treason, and did little but cast implacable shadows of uselessness upon so many who had lost their lives attempting to resist the new order.

Shunsui lifted his glance to meet the one of the young Shinigami who was decidedly heading for him, and judging by the fact that the young man's sincere smile had faltered, his glance must have accurately portrayed his thoughts.

'Cap…Kyoraku-sama,' the young man greeted, in a voice that sounded uncertain, and that made Shunsui feel a twinge of regret over his stance. The young Shinigami, who wore a seated officer arm-band, had clearly been overjoyed to see one of the old Gotei leadership, but had immediately understood he'd gotten off on the wrong foot before he had even opened his mouth.

The former captain of the 8th forced himself to nod.

'4th seat Takeshi,' the young man said, introducing himself with a deep bow. 'We…' he began, allowing the uncertainty in his voice to dim to sincere enthusiasm, 'we are very happy to see you.'

And indeed, Shunsui noticed, though the activity in the courtyard of the Captain's quarters had not slowed, the glances that were upon the small group of 8th Division Shinigami were filled with warmth and reverence.

'We are happy to be out and about,' Shunsui answered, finding that the phrase was neutral enough; it was Takeshi's turn to nod.

'Grimm…Grimmjow-sama is not yet back from Rukongai,' the young man said, turning towards the captain's quarters, after briefly bowing in Shunsui's direction, 'but Lilinette-sama is at the practice grounds, and she has asked to see you as soon as you arrive. This way, please.'

The main hall of the Captain's quarters was marginally more quiet than the courtyard, and it was there that Shunsui noticed the only hints of an Arrancar presence. Still, if the hundreds of Hollow which had installed themselves at the 8th were anything to go by, the Hollow presence at the 3rd seemed to be minimal. As he passed, he counted perhaps twenty white uniforms, which, to his relief, were not joined by Shinigami, and clearly showed that the lines had not been fully blurred.

One Arrancar, a tall and lanky female one with brightly green hair, beaked nose and rounded face, reminiscent of an owl crossed their path as the group made their way through, and exchanged a stiff salute with Takeshi. She eyed the 8th division group with attention, but no outright aggression, and continued on her way without giving them too much thought.

'Where's the rest of them?' Shunsui asked, glancing on the female Arrancar's trail. Takeshi shrugged, understanding that the very light Hollow presence must have been surprising to an outsider.

'Their own barracks, for the most part. They're settled to the west of ours, and very few of them come out unless they are called.' He answered.

'Truly,' Shunsui remarked, feeling inclined to whistle in amazement.

'In our case, they occupied the captain's quarters and the central grounds within hours of arrival,' Takeda said, dryly.

'It was the same here, before our shadow leadership was established,' Takeshi nodded. 'It was not the most pleasant of times,' he added, looking over his shoulder with eyes which had been riddled with pain at the memory, as well as at the fact that he knew his companions at the 8th were probably still suffering a fate that the 3rd had somehow avoided. 'Grimm and Lilinette,' he continued, leaving Shunsui to wonder at the informal manner of address, as well as at the fact that Takeshi thought nothing of imparting information, 'are not on good terms with the rest of the Hollow contingent. I believe that it is a rivalry that transcends present circumstances, in Lilinette's case, while in Grimm's case it is simply a matter of…'

To Shunsui's surprise, Takeshi chuckled lightly.

'…differing visions of leadership,' the 4th seat ended, with clear, but warm irony.

'And they have discussed such things with you?' Shunsui queried, with a deep frown.

If anything, he thought, the Arrancar would have been wise to disguise their inner tension – though, the Shinigami considered, from what little he had seen of the two, neither was either subtle or politically inclined. Still, he would have expected that even though they'd been placed in a leadership position, the Hollow would understand they still stood in the midst of their enemies and hold on to their own kind.

'You will find, I think,' Takeshi answered, with the same unexplainable smile, 'that Lilinette has a tendency of speaking her mind. Very loudly.'

He pulled the Shoji screen aside, emerging into the inner courtyard – the blow of powerful Kido, combined with a Cero explosion made the 8th Division Shinigami immediately bring their hands to their weapons.

'What the…' Takeda began to question, his words swallowed by noise and dust. Up ahead, a long and intricate labyrinth with walls of severing void force fell in place, in such synchronicity that, before logic returned, Shunsui wrongly guessed it was the work of a single caster. The flavours of many differing reiatsu caught his attention but a single second later, as a river of light erupted within the confines of the labyrinth, and the twenty or so dark-clad figures that the severing void had meant to trap darted to the air, quickly forming a very precise circular pattern, and unleashing a united front of scalding red fire towards the light below.

Takeshi cringed.

'Yeowch!' the light shrilled, in the Primera Espada's voice. 'That smarts!'

'Not this time, Lilinette-sama,' one of the Shinigami above laughed – his amusement was quickly cut short as the walls of severing void vanished, only to implacably reappear above them, in the shape of a shimmering dome. The light quickly concentrated into the shape of a young woman, before refocusing and bursting upwards, in a thick, burning pillar.

Knowing themselves trapped between the barriers above and the light below, the group of Shinigami quickly evaded to the sides, with no trace of panic; none, Shunsui noticed, broke formation, and none retreated a single yard further than his companions. They simply expanded the circular pattern enough to stand outside the severing void – captivated enough by the display to forget about minding his guests, Takeshi took a step forward.

'Six…' he breathed – though they could not have heard him, the Shinigami above obeyed the unfinished thought…with a minor variation.

Half of the group directed shots of red fire towards the base of the pillar of light, forcing its energy upwards; the other half called forth rods of lightning, trapping the Arrancar from all sides, and surrounding her in a solid shackle. The light pulsed blindingly, attempting to break free – blue and red fire grew from below, attempting to break the circle's coordination; they held steadfast, with those who had called the shots of red fire summoning protective barriers which allowed the rest of the group to focus the lightning shackle even further, and force the light to recede more and more.

'Push,' the Shinigami who had laughed before ordered; the reiatsu of his ten companions grew to such intensity that it almost rendered the air solid. The Arrancar's light pulsed steadily a few more times, then appeared to stabilize and focus in turn.

'Oh no, you don't,' the Shinigami shouted, suddenly withdrawing his Kido from the meld – not a moment too late. The expanse of light, which had been pushing the shackle outwards, suddenly withdrew into the contours of Lilinette's body and drifted downwards, allowing the lightning to crush inwards and capture nothing but thin air.

She hadn't been fast enough, though.

Binding ropes, hastily summoned by the Shinigami who had read her intentions snaked about her limbs, holding her in place for just long enough for his companions to regroup. Abandoning safety, the rest of the group allowed the protective barriers to dissolve, and a renewed wave of lighting rods crashed about the girl's figure, finally pinning her in place.

For a single moment, the world stood still.

Then, Lilinette's childish laughter filled the courtyard, and, to Shunsui's great amazement cheers and clapping rose from the dust below.

'Fine, fine, ya gots me,' the Arrancar said, allowing colour to slowly fill the contours of her body. 'Good stuff, Matsuo,' she said – slipping free of the loosened bars of lightning, and using Sonido to get to the side of the Shinigami who had caught her, to pat him on the shoulder.

'Slowly but surely,' the man shrugged, wiping his brow, and catching his breath – and though everything had been almost too fast for thought, and the entire display had been beyond belief, Shunsui could still tell that the entire group was undeniably, unexplainably _proud._

'_Training?'_ Takeda whispered from behind.

Shunsui shook his head, and looked to Takeshi for the answer – the young Shinigami nodded in confirmation, then shrugged, with a small apologetic undertone.

'Lilinette-sama,' he called, descending into the courtyard. The honorific had not sounded artificial, though its addition had had a note of deliberation to it.

_Familiar in private, respectful in public,_ Shunsui thought, taking a step forward in his turn.

'Heya, Takeshi!' the girl waved from above. 'Oh, hello,' she added, taking note of Shunsui; the mood of the company seemed to darken for an instant, as if the entire assembly had felt guilty at being seen by an outsider.

Though she looked uncertain as well, Lilinette smiled reassuringly towards Matsuo, before letting her hand slip off his shoulder and drifting down to the ground. She was also covered in sweat, which caused a few strands of hair to become glued to her cheeks; the girl pulled them back, bringing her hair into some semblance of order.

'Hi,' she repeated, grinning wide. 'Thought ya was gonna be a bit later.'

'We are on time,' Takeda said, not bothering to disguise the cold edge in his voice – the reaction of the two 3rd Division officers who stood just behind the Arrancar was yet again telling and surprising at the same time. Both Takeshi and Matsuo straightened and inched forward, in an unconscious protective gesture.

Lilinette didn't seem to notice either movement; she simply sustained Shunsui's glance, smiling in a way which made the Shinigami find it hard to frown.

'Maybe,' she shrugged. 'But Grimm's not here yet, so…Uhm, anyway – welcome.' Lilinette said. 'An' thanks for coming,' she added, pointedly speaking to Shunsui.

'New Central orders,' Shunsui shrugged, pointing at his lack of choice in the matter, but nonetheless finding it in himself to tip his hat in the form of a half-hearted salute.

The girl's eye narrowed for a moment.

'Yeh,' she said, after a second of silence. 'Sorry 'bout that.'

She nervously ran her fingers through her hair, and swiftly turned around, towards the Shinigami which had assembled behind her in the courtyard; the glance she had exchanged with Takeshi, and the fact that the young officer had tried to smile reassuringly was not wasted on Shunsui. The former captain of the 8th exchanged a quick glance with his officer, shaking his head as if to tell Takeda to hide his confusion.

'Thanks, guys,' the Arrancar shrilled. 'Was quite awesome planned! That brings it to, like…'

'Two wins for our group, thirteen for your group,' a voice called, from the troop; they all laughed, and Lilinette laughed too, scratching the back of her head.

'Yeh, it's coming, it's coming…' she shrugged. 'If Grimm were here, you'd have gotten me even faster…'

'If Takeshi got off his behind and joined training, they wouldn't stand a chance,' another voice said, the mild frustration it carried pointedly showing that the woman had belonged to the group that had just lost the confrontation.

'Ya saying I need help?' Lilinette muttered, causing the laughter to rise again.

'No, just saying Takeshi's lazy,' the same woman chuckled, causing Takeshi to shift uncomfortably.

'Alright, children, break it up,' the Arrancar said, clapping her hands. 'We sadly got shit to be ready for. Enough fun for one day, eh? Go chill - this was really cool, and Matsuo here deserves some cheerin'...an' some booze,' Lilinette added, winking towards her fifth seat, and making him beam with pride.

'See y'all in the evening…' She concluded, beginning to turn away.

'Lilinette-sama?' another voice queried.

'Yup, Yoshi?' Lilinette answered.

A young officer, who looked barely older than his shadow commander stepped up, and oddly sought Shunsui's glance before speaking to Lilinette.

'Are we really going to be working with the 8th? I mean, Captain Kyoraku is here, and…'

His voice had sounded desperately young and hopeful, and made Shunsui's stomach tense unpleasantly.

'Is it really true?' the boy pressed. 'Is the ban on movement between divisions lifted?'

The Arrancar shrugged sincerely.

'Not yet, I don't think, only under controlled conditions. But,' Lilinette added, visibly trying to curve her group's disappointment, 'what's gonna come's gonna come. The only thing that's for sure now is that we are really gonna be working with the 8th.'

The group welcomed the news with more cheers and clapping; despite the strangeness of the situation, Shunsui found himself smiling for no particular reason.

'If they're willing to work with _us,_ that is,' Lilinette said in a cold sotto voce, heading away from the courtyard and flashing Takeda a grin cold enough to make the Tercera Espada proud.

* * *

Up next - Some old friends finally make an appearance, on a not so fortunate circumstance.


	48. Third Degree

For the failed Apocalypse, here's a written one :P

Hope you guys got all the gifts you wanted, that you are happy and healthy, and we thank you for reading and commenting. We do ./bow.

And, here goes Chapter 48, where

- Hell swallows an island, and we get reacquianted with old friends.

* * *

Darkness had descended in broad daylight.

In the beginning, the earth had shaken slightly, as if the island itself had been shuddering in fear. A few days apart at first, the tremors had quickly grown only hours apart. The humans had not feared them – despite the fact that some of the elders had begun looking to the peaceful sea, and whispering that these tremors were nothing like the tremors that they were all accustomed to; that there was something unnatural about the shivers of the earth and the stillness of the waters.

The younger folk had shrugged and paid no heed to the whispers, though the frequency of the quakes had become somewhat of a national subject, and had divided television commentators on the subject of whether the small tremors were a good thing – just tension outlets that would assure a larger quake would not follow – or indeed, the warning signs of terrible devastation to come. In the first week after the quakes had begun, some people have flocked to the ferries and headed for the mainland, leaving their glittering island, with its steel and glass skyscrapers and busy ports, behind. They'd begun to return another week later, when the subject of the tremors had somewhat died down, and the outrageous marriage break-up of a very beautiful actress had replaced the harmless quakes as a subject of national interest.

The tremors of the earth had continued, but grown to be part of every day life; in truth, most people agreed over elegant dinners, the small island nation was used to earthquakes since times immemorial, and these, for however frequent, did little but rattle ill placed vases and scare small children at night. In the end of all things, the city and its skyscrapers had been built to withstand this precise kind of vicissitude – flexible iron structures and balancing water tanks, fine seismograph needles to issue warnings - all of the wonders of modern technology would assure the city would survive this little quirk of nature, as it had withstood others before it.

Far more concerning was the fact that some weapon, or some form of unknown terrorist attack had wiped out an entire city, somewhere in the jungles to the immediate east; even more concerning was the fact that none of the human world's powers had admitted to a weapons test, and no terrorist organisation had risen to claim the attacks. As always, the government of the little jungle state had attempted to bury the information as best they could, but not even a tightly held military junta had been able to cover up satellite pictures of the vast area of devastation. The images had circled the world quickly, and none could agree what precisely they were; some argued that the entire thing had been a Burmese government plot to hide the demolition of yet another of the world's architectural treasures, for there was no denying that a two thousand year old temple had been wiped off the face of the ground. Others, who were far more pragmatic, had already decided that the entire thing was yet another attempt at intimidation by a larger, and increasingly aggressive northern neighbour.

Ships had been taken out of harbour and exercises had been conducted, on the background of the neighbouring nation strenuous denials, the spectacle of a beautiful actress' hastily packed luggage, the mutterings of old people, and the small quakes that none could bring themselves to really care about.

When _it_ had come, the tiny island state, with its busy ports and gleaming skyscrapers, had been destroyed in less than an hour.

Two neighbouring towers had suddenly crumbled, as the ground beneath them had simply seemed to vanish, swallowing the buildings, their flexible iron structures and all miracles of technology whole. Within minutes, cracks in the pavement had extended and widened, tearing the city apart; bridges that had withstood tidal waves and bombings had broken as if they'd been built out of matchsticks – tens of thousands had died in those first few moments, when it had felt as if the island itself had suddenly come to life, like a magical beast, and decided to shake all the humans off its back.

A ripple of destruction had run from coast to coast, and the earth had waved as if it had been liquid, while the waters themselves still remained peaceful; walls had fallen as dominoes and cars had turned into metal traps – thousands more had been caught in the rush for the ports, and more than one ferry had sunk under the weight off too many terrified bodies.

Yet, those who had died during that first hour could still count themselves lucky. The survivors would see far worse. _Things, _such as none had ever seen, and which could not be mistaken for human weapons, had crawled out of the darkness below; counting in the hundreds, and moving at speed that nothing in creation should have possessed, the creatures had swarmed over the bleeding remains of the city, consuming all in their path, and spreading out in wave after wave. They were as hungry for the flesh of the living as they were for the flesh of the dead. No two looked like each other; some stood tens of feet tall, their bodies built out of dark tentacles, with horizontal, fanged jaws snapping at the centre of what might have been their chests; others, surprisingly human in shape and appearance, but made out of the same black flesh; still others, small and limber, in the shape of rat sized cockroaches, or blind, lightning fast bats which filled the skies and descended in mass upon anything that still drew breath.

The events that followed the destruction would never become clear – neither satellite imagery, nor the accounts of the few who'd miraculously lived to speak of the aftermath could truly be believed; these images too, would circle to world in but a few hours, yet none in the remainder of civilised humanity would ever be able to agree on what they'd just witnessed.

However, one certainty to emerge from the day was the fact that many more nations had taken their ships out of port to conduct military exercises; the other was that a city state of with a population of roughly four million had simply vanished off the face of the planet, on a sunny Wednesday afternoon, and that the sea had remained peaceful throughout.

* * *

Kurosaki Ichigo cursed, and rolled to the side to avoid a tentacle swipe, closing his eyes for a split second; he reopened them, only to find that the body of the creature he'd been facing was pierced by tens of Ishida's blue arrows, and oozing some sort of unidentifiable, dark and thick liquid.

He propped himself on one knee, and looked on in incomprehension.

His enemy wailed and writhed in pain, pointlessly swiping its thin tentacles at its torso, in a an attempt of dislodging the arrows.

_Any second now_, Ichigo told himself, thinking that getting out of the way was now pointless.

Within an eye blink, Ishida's arrows would begin to burn away at the thing's flesh, corroding it into nothingness – he'd seen the weapons' effect on hundreds of Hollow before, so many times that he did not even question whether this time would be different, not even after the monster before him shook himself free of some of the arrows, and regained sufficient initiative to take another powerful swipe at Ichigo himself.

He darted out of the way, and the black tentacle left another two feet deep welt across the already torn pavement.

'Oh,' he pointlessly said.

The creature fell, its already wounded torso rapidly severed in half by a thin, elegant rapier; standing behind the just slain opponent, Neliel Tu looked less than pleased; the dead black flesh at their feet began to bubble rapidly, giving off a terrible stench of sulphur as it decomposed.

'You're a bit rusty, Kurosaki,' Ishida muttered; Ichigo did not need to look over his shoulder to know the archer had just adjusted his glasses. He smirked and straightened.

'Well, I was sort of expecting ya'd kill it,' the substitute Shinigami protested. 'So you aren't in that great shape yourself, man…'

Ishida seemed in no mood for a debate.

He lowered his head, and brought his hand to his ear.

'These are definitely not Hollow,' he said, briefly and decisively.

'Agreed,' Hirako Shinji's voice returned; his energies flared in the distance, just as the burning trail of Rose's whip cut a path through a flapping swarm of bats, somewhere above.

'What the…' Ichigo began to inquire, looking down at his feet and hoping that the remains of the creature he'd just faced would yield some sort of clue as to why all the others had so rapidly reached the same conclusion. Much like the corpses of all the other creatures they'd faced before, the thing's body, had immediately turned into an indistinct, bubbling mass of liquid, which was quickly seeping into the ground.

Neliel Tu advanced, and sheathed her sword.

They had made surprisingly fast progress since arriving – despite their numbers, the vast majority of the invaders hadn't been stronger than regular minor Hollow; far from giving any satisfaction, however, the seeming speed of their battles had left Ichigo even more embittered. The dimension of the disaster which surrounded them, another cataclysm that they'd failed to prevent, was all but too great to contemplate, and Ichigo did not truly wish to; the unwanted breather forced him to do just that, however, and, though he'd much preferred to keep his eyes fixed on the disgusting remnants of the creature at his feet, Ichigo forced himself to look about.

His heart sank.

There was nothing but death, for miles around; the city, its buildings and its people, had been simply been erased, in a scene so reminiscent of the Karakura massacre that Ichigo had to swallow dry to keep the rising sorrow from outweighing his rage.

It had been a year, but not even a lifetime could have erased the image he'd awakened to after Aizen's ascension; he'd always carry it in his heart, and in his mind…in his blood, Ichigo thought, finding that even though he'd closed his eyes, the images stubbornly lingered. The fires, which still rose from place to place. The molten metal, the pointlessly blinking lights, the shattered glass, the broken concrete, _the blood_…

Oh, Gods, the blood that pooled, or dripped, out of bodies that but a minute ago had been human…

He shook his head; the image lingered.

'You OK?' Neliel Tu asked, kindly. The touch of her small hand on his shoulder returned him to a reality that was not less painful than the memory. He tried to nod, but ended up honestly shaking his head; she lightly squeezed his shoulder, and moved on, not insisting on the answer she must already have known.

Kurosaki Ichigo, much like Ishida Uryu and Inoue Orihime would never be OK again.

'We're almost done on this end,' Ishida said, decisively stomping his foot on a skittering, giant cockroach. How the hell he managed to keep his bloody uniform _that_ white when he insisted on doing heroic shit like that was anybody's guess.

'Likewise,' Shinji confirmed. 'This don't change…'

Nel spun on herself and fired a Cero before Ichigo could even sense the intruder approaching; the greenish light, which should have normally erased anything out of existence merely scalded the ten foot tall mass of gnarled limbs and sharp teeth, and forced it to stumble backwards. Ishida materialised his swords before Nel had the time to draw, and was upon the monster in the following heartbeat. Crossing his Seele Schenider across the thing's neck, the Quincy rested his knee upon what might have passed for the creature's shoulders, before powerfully kicking himself away, and severing the thing's head. This time, the black body did not fall to the ground in a writhing mass of liquid – it reassuringly fizzled into thin air, crumbling into ash.

'There,' Ishida said, though gritted teeth. Nothing else seemed to move.

'What the fuck _are_ these things?' Ichigo finally asked.

'Fuck knows,' Shinji's voice hissed out of the communicator. 'Would ya fucking watch what you're fucking doing with that…'

A hundred foot tall pillar of fire and debris exploded in the distance, sending out a blast wave so powerful that Ichigo had to cover his eyes and brace to avoid being swept off his feet; he instinctively stretched his arm to the side, knowing that Nel would equally instinctively grab hold of it.

'Bloody hell, Urahara!' the Shinigami substitute exclaimed.

'Sorry,' Urahara Kisuke said, making both Ichigo and Hirako Shinji sigh deeply; both guessed that Urahara was probably not sorry at all. It was not that Urahara had ever been careful and considerate with his reiatsu to begin with. It just seemed that the months that had passed in the wake of Karakura's fall had made him even more reckless – if such a thing, Ichigo told himself, helping Nel steady herself, could even be contemplated.

Or if it even mattered.

The explosion of Benihime's reiatsu left deafening silence in its wake. Fires still dotted the scene; electricity still crackled from torn power lines, and though Ichigo tried, tried so very hard not to imagine it, blood still pooled and dripped from things which had once, in a different time, been human. Nothing else moved anymore; hot liquid rained out of the sky, as Rose did away with a last pack of bats – the sun kept shining above the destruction, and nothing, not the sea, not Nel's fingers creeping between his, nothing could make anything OK ever again.

'What is Aizen doing?' Ichigo whispered, not looking to either of his companions. 'Why is he doing this?'

Neliel Tu didn't know the answer to this one; she simply held his hand tighter, as Ishida calmly placed his swords back on his belt. It was just as well, Ichigo thought. The answer was irrelevant. The only thing that could have, but hadn't made a difference, was if they'd arrived in time to stop this massacre, and redeem themselves for the massacre they'd been unable to stop.

They hadn't though; they, a desperate band of misfits, had arrived just minutes or even seconds too late, and the delay had made them as irrelevant the second time around as they'd been the first time; it did not truly matter that they'd stopped the dark things which swept across the dead ground. The humans, all of the humans had probably been already dead by the time they'd caught whiff of the attack.

_Just like Karin is dead, and Iuzu is dead, and dad is dead…_

Ichigo breathed in, and drowned in the stench of sulphur.

It mattered little.

He thought he felt the earth beneath his feet shake, ever so lightly.

'Urahara?' Ishida had queried, in sudden alarm.

'I sense it,' Urahara had returned, in a dry voice – and indeed, it was difficult for anyone not to; still leaning on Ichigo's arm, Neliel Tu frowned, and half drew her blade, slightly parting her legs to gain more solid footing. The earth was shaking powerfully, now, and stony ridges began to rise from the rabble all around them, further ripping at the scorched ground.

The trail of Love's Shumpo stopped above, and the Vaizard confusedly looked down upon the three, while unconsciously spinning his gigantic bat. Dust and hot vapour soon rose to hide him from sight – without further hesitation, and propelling herself on Ichigo's arm, Neliel Tu darted upwards, amid the swirling clouds of debris. The two humans followed, a distracted Ishida oddly overtaking both the Shinigami and the Arrancar.

'Urahara,' the Quincy repeated, as he drifted by. 'Are you registering…'

His voice was laced in alarm, at what seemed to be more than the sudden upheaval of the ground below; the sharp hiss of hot vapour from below cut off Urahara's response, and Ishida impatiently tapped his earplug, as if hoping the small device could somehow contend with the horrifying noises. Large pieces of rock, dislodged from the earth below, were hurled at them as the streams of hot vapour grew in density and pressure; Shinji, who'd made his way to them, had to swerve dangerously, and barely managed to avoid a six foot wide boulder.

The blonde Vaizard circled round, shielding his face with his forearm.

'Well, fuck,' Ichigo thought he'd heard Shinji say – shards of metal and liquefied glass were now showering the small group from all sides, making it difficult to see and hear, even at an arm's length. Neliel Tu, who was the only one among them in possession of a Hierro, practically glowed within her cocoon, her long hair whipping wildly about her figure.

'Goddamn it, Urahara,' Ishida shouted, bending over against the cutting whirlwinds. 'Can you still hear me?'

Ichigo much doubted that Urahara still could; drawing a deep breath, and seeking Shinji's glance in the relentless, unexplainable storm, Ichigo stretched his arm to the side, causing the silk wrappings to fall free of Zangetsu's blade, and furiously whip in the wind.

'…out of there!' something, that resembled Urahara's voice croaked from Ishida's earphone; the archer sought Nel's glance in incomprehension. '…thing's coming! Get out of there!' the earphone croaked again.

None of them was truly left time to react.

The earth below was ripped completely asunder, and spewed them with a three hundred foot tall pillar of fire and melted rock; the small group, who'd barely assembled in the previous blast, scattered in all directions, the trails of their various high-speed techniques criss-crossing the serene sky.

Shinji and Love were projected hundreds of feet to the north, while the blue trail of Ishida's Hyrenkyaku and Neliel Tu's bright cocoon blazed southwards. Ichigo himself found less than welcome help from Rose's whip, as he struggled to redress – the hastily stretched out tongue of the Vaizard's weapon threatened to rip off his arm as it hastily wound about his elbow, preventing Ichigo from being blown away in the blaze.

'Watch it, man,' he pointlessly mumbled; Rose simply pulled his whip loose, and gently shook his blonde tresses, in kind incomprehension; his hat gone, and Benihime glowing in his right hand, Urahara materialised just behind them, giving Ichigo no more time for comment.

The pillar of lava stood tall – within seconds, it began to solidify and dry out, and, as darkness quickly spread to cover the writhing liquid, turned into a structure tall enough to rival any of the sky-scrapers it had previously crumbled. To Ichigo's horror, however, the grey sheet of rock that stretched over the liquid fire did not remain grey. Like moss crawling over stone, impossibly dark skin flourished upon the pillar's surface, spreading as yeast in the heat – gleaming, disgusting and above all, undeniably _alive._

Pulsing veins moved underneath the recently formed skin as the gigantesque, upright worm willed itself into being. Hundreds of mouths, adorned with gleaming teeth tore across open its surface, snapping hungrily and dripping fluid which burned through rock, once it rained upon the ground – arms, some human, but some sharpened into the fashion of blades, and others elongated into whipping, writhing feelers which stretched all the way down – ripped free from underneath the black skin, as the thing shrieked, wailed and grew underneath their eyes.

'Sing, Benihime,' Urahara commanded; one of the tentacles lashed out, and swatted him to the ground, in a burning blaze of red light. All of the others were upon the newly appeared monstrosity within a single further second: a blinding hale of Ishida's blue arrows opened the way for Gamuza's focussed, single green ray.

The thing's energy was so overpowering that Ichigo had not even felt Neliel release, and the attacks left it indifferent, though they bore burning holes in its flesh; the liquid that oozed from its wounds solidified and closed them in the blink of an eye. Shifting its entire, impossible mass, _it_ turned and spun itself taller, then bent to the side, aiming its entire bulk at Neliel Tu. Her Hierro flared, but the sheer mass of the enemy overcame her and swallowed her whole, slamming her into the ground below.

A hasty Getsuga Tenshou all but carved its way through the arch of writing flesh, and left a twenty foot suppurating in its side; _it_ barely took notice, though its entire body began to ripple concentrically, like that of an earthworm trying to extract itself from the ground. The explosion of Neliel Tu's Cero made it whip itself straight, however the victory meant little; whatever damage Ichigo had caused closed as rapidly as the damage inflicted by the Arrancar's attack, which had caused the top of the pillar to split, flow outwards, and momentarily gather the appearance of a mushroom.

It did not have innards, Ichigo dazedly realised. It did not bleed.

The released reiatsu caught them all by surprise, and projected them all outwards – its flavour, its _stench, _was as overpowering as it was vast. The thing seemed to linger for a second, gently swaying from side to side, as if deciding what to do next; its many mouths wailed, and despite his better instincts, Ichigo covered his ears, and winced, barely managing to redress himself and cast an incredulous glance at Urahara, the only one whose presence he could still sense in the storm.

'What is this?' the Shinigami substitute whispered. 'What the hell…'

Though he still held Benihime upright, and maintained her focus, Urahara's own energy seemed in tremendous disorder. He did not hurry to answer – the look on his features as he finally looked away from the _thing,_ to meet Ichigo's glance filled the boy's heart with unknown dread.

Over the years, Ichigo had seen Urahara being falsely detached; seriously focussed; murderously angry; once, he'd thought he'd seen Urahara being surprised. Once, even frightened. Along the course of those very same years, however, Ichigo had never seen Urahara Kisuke being crushingly disheartened.

Ichigo swallowed dry, and the odd intermission came to an abrupt end.

Rose's sword stretched and coiled around the pillar's circumference, but merely slipped through its semi-liquid form as the Vaizard attempted to tighten it; the edges of the pillar's top disk spun, shooting out seemingly untargeted blobs of dark matter. The small scattered group dodged, all floating in different directions, and not knowing what they were truly avoiding until it was a split second too late. Possessed of willpower and intelligence of their own, the blobs stretched out, each entangling its closest opponent's limbs with devilish precision.

All reacted out of furious instinct, too surprised at the fact that the untargeted gushes had not been the enemy's weapons, but a wave of new enemies in turn – Cero and Kido crossed the rushed blow of a Ginto explosion, yet, neither sword nor magic achieved clear success. Where one tentacle was severed, three more sprouted, and above them all, the gigantic top of the living mushroom spread out even further, as if it had meant to engulf the sky; small patches of dark flesh began to rain down from the stretching mass above, filling in any temporary damage that the group's attempts at liberating themselves might have caused. Drips stretched into torrents, torrents thickened to ropes, and though Zangetsu's release to Bankai caused Ichigo's own bonds to scatter, they only served to further feed the black mass which was slowly, but surely engulfing Urahara.

The panicked gushes of his companion's energies driving him madly forth, Ichigo alone pushed against the pillar, using Sonido to dash left and right, away from any deceptively small droplets of the thing's flesh, and hacking at the mushroom's foot with all of his strength; he sensed Benihime's reiatsu burning at his back and heard the whirr of Rose's extended whip just ahead, somewhere beyond the solid, creeping darkness. For a second, as his attacks dug deeper and deeper into the gigantic enemy's flesh, and as he had to dodge out of the way of Gamuza's ray, which had pierced the creature's body from the other side and barely missed him, he allowed himself to think that the disadvantageous moment had passed.

That, of course, until the edges of the mushroom cap which had grown above them all collapsed, trapping them feet deep within the thing's body. All sensation of any energy other that _it_'s own ceased, and pain began.

There was no air, no light, no sense of direction. Millions of needles dragged over his skin and under it, reaching down to his muscles – within a moment, he knew, they'd grow together and tear through them; he pushed forth, not knowing where forth would lead. His eyelids and lungs began to burn, and a fanged mouth began to gnaw at his calf. Zangetsu himself howled within Ichigo's thoughts, as if the power of the thing around them had caused equal corrosion in metal as it did in flesh, and the sword itself could feel pain.

Another mouth lodged itself into his shoulder, and he impossibly felt the slithering of moist, slack lips before he felt the tears of the fangs.

Then, Desgarron hit him squarely across the chest, dragging him across a myriad more needles and fangs, and all but burning his flesh off his bones, but also projecting him two hundred feet backwards, and out of the body of the thing that was doubtlessly preparing to eat him alive.

True to nature, Grimmjow helped him redress with a swift kick to the kidneys, and Ichigo spit blood; still true to nature, the Shinigami substitute spun on himself and headed for Grimmjow at the speed of light.

'You bastard!' he shouted, pulling his fury across his features, and letting the other's insanity drag him forth. 'Bastard,' the Hollow hissed, in a voice that was not Ichigo's own.

'Kurosaki!' Grimmjow howled back, shaking his mane, and tensing on all fours in expectation of the attack; he swatted Zangetsu's thin, darkened blade aside with a kick of his back paw, and used the claws of his front paw to claw at Ichigo's face and neck. The boy used Shumpo to evade, letting the panther's claws slide just a fraction of an inch off his flesh. 'Ha!' the Sexta exclaimed, not letting Ichigo out of his sight. 'Finally!'

He caught Ichigo's blade in mid-swing, briefly holding it between his palms before planting his leg and his claws squarely into the boy's chest, not kicking him away, but simply holding him still, as he turned, aiming at him with his elbow. Knowing what would follow, Ichigo pulled himself away, tearing his kimono and his flesh at the same time. Aided by fury, he circled high, managing to come behind the Espada in the next second – with Grimmjow's frame clearly in his sights, he brought Zangetsu down in a devastating strike.

_Just like the one which should have killed him the first time around. Before Aizen had had time to cause any of this. The first time around._

His sword stopped; not against Grimmjow's Hierro, but against something else. Ichigo heard the loud clinking of metal against metal, and saw sparks. The barrier did not hold, but its mere presence gave the Sexta time to redress and reposition, while causing Ichigo sufficient confusion not to follow.

'In the words of people bigger than I,' an unknown voice said, 'what the fuck?'

'Outta my way, Takeshi!' Grimmjow howled.

Even Ichigo's Hollow waited, in utter confusion.

'Sir,' the unknown voice said, dryly.

'I said – outta my way!' the Sexta shouted again; the Shinigami of the unknown voice still stood between the two, with his back to Ichigo and his released Zanpakutoh at his side, a stance that to Ichigo and his Hollow only denoted folly. Even more so because as Grimmjow prepared to leap forth, the Shinigami unwisely brought his scythe to the ready.

'Sir.' The Shinigami repeated; the word seemed to give Grimmjow pause. 'What the fuck, Sir? The mission terms…'

'Fuck the mission terms! Kurosaki!' Grimmjow yelled, easily jumping over the Shinigami, and making for Ichigo at great speed. 'Gran Rey Cero,' he said in the next breath; Ichigo brought Zangetsu up, but the gesture was not needed.

'Bakudo 8,' the Shinigami commanded, staggering as his shield caught Grimmjow's energy, and diverted it to all sides in random, panicked flickers. 'Dude,' he said, his shoulders slumping with obvious discomfort at the word.

Ichigo's mask began to crumble; oddly enough, the panther remained on the other side of the Kido shield, breathing uneasily.

'You're not gonna…' Grimmjow growled.

'The enemy is below us, Grimm,' the Shinigami said, lowering his scythe. He briefly looked over his shoulder, allowing Ichigo a first glance at his features. 'The enemy is below us,' he reminded, this time clearly speaking in the Shinigami substitute's direction.

'The enemy?' Ichigo exploded, as his Hollow withdrew. 'The enemy? _You _are the enemy! You made all of this happen – you an' your great leader, what the fuck are ya on about?'

The Shinigami's features tensed, as he considered Ichigo for a second more; he then turned to look at Grimmjow, not giving Ichigo any further answers.

'The ryoka Shinigami substitute is not who we are here to fight,' Takeshi bitterly said.

'Fight?' Ichigo breathed, just as he sensed the Sexta's energies roll up to a roaring protest. 'You'd have me think that…You're fighting this shit?'

'Look below you, ryoka' the Shinigami said, not taking his eyes off the Sexta; Ichigo incredulously did.

Indeed, below him, tens of Shinigami were combining Kido and sword swipes directed at the dark pillar; painful gusts of light burned at the thing from all directions, enabling a very recognisable Kyoraku Shunsui to tear at it from the shadows the light cast. Inch by inch and cut by cut, the pillar wavered and writhed smaller – the flavour of the assembled reiatsu slowly, but inexorably overcame the stench of the other's reiatsu.

_What…the…_

Ichigo's thoughts were cut short; the air around him vibrated along with the immense, subterranean roar of the ground beneath, and nausea swept through his gut. Without any further warning, the monstrosity returned to its previous solid state and simply exploded from within. The shockwave blasted over the remains of a few remaining buildings as the abomination dissolved to a billowing cloud of ash and, which, as if by a vacuum, was swept into a golden portal. It was, then, simply gone, leaving Ichigo to contemplate the equally confused and still swarming group of Shinigami below.

They had done nothing to actually defeat it, Ichigo understood. Whatever it had been, they had, indeed been fighting it, and _it_ had simply…left, indifferent to their efforts. The blinding light that had been biting at the thing now darted about the sky without purpose.

'God, fuck this horseshit!' Grimmjow exploded. 'This entire fucking day has been nothing but a fucking cock tease! As fucking usual!' the panther roared out in frustration. 'I don't train nothin' and I can't rip faces! I train two divisions for a month and I _still_ can't rip faces! An' it's you who keeps getting in my way, Kurosaki!'

The panther came at him, eluding the efforts of his Shinigami companion, so Ichigo truly thought no more. Rage at his family's death, so close to the surface, ignited once more, and even if he'd only been armed with it, Ichigo felt as if he could have bisected both the Arrancar and the Shinigami in one single slash – it fell, decisive and precise, and heavy enough to dent the ground below. It just happened that stopped by something Ichigo could not really see, Grimmjow had tumbled back from his leap, and not been in the Getsuga Tenshou's way.

'Yo!'

'Motherfucker! Lili!' Grimmjow's curse had barely left his lips before Ichigo himself was pulled back by a familiar reiatsu, and oddly agreed with Grimmjow's sentiments. If not one thing, than the other _always _got in the way of himself and the Sexta putting things straight. In Grimmjow's case it seemed to be the gushing, biting light. In his case, it was Benihime, with Urahara's full will behind her. Neither him, nor Grimmjow had choice but to stop, thus, they both did.

As the Vaizard and Ishida approached in their turns, the light behind the Sexta solidified into a thin, teenage girl with clothing so scandalous it would make Chizuru blush. Her odd appearance was further accented by her height, which wasn't far from his own, and her small mask, which manifested as a lone, bottomless eye patch was framed by golden blonde locks, messily braided over her right shoulder blade.

He'd not seen this one before, Ichigo thought.

'Lilinette?' Neliel Tu asked, sudden confusion reigning in her voice and in her eyes – the young hollow looked up in immense confusion of her own.

'Nellie?' the shaped light asked in return, and all took pause; carefully, but demonstrating that her recognition of the young blonde surpassed her fear of Grimmjow – or that, perhaps, she did not fear him at all - Neliel Tu stepped up from behind Urahara and boldly crossed the few paces that separated the two small groups. The Shinigami that stood with the two Arrancar took a step forward in his turn, clearly intending to protectively place himself in front of the young woman – a somewhat uncertain wave of her hand stopped him short.

'Lili?' Neliel Tu asked again.

The young Hollow appeared oddly hesitant, and gazed to Ichigo and the Vaizard with apprehension, yet, Ichigo noted, slightly lowering his sword arm, no outright aggression. Under different circumstances, the Shinigami substitute might have considered her glance regretful.

'Yeah,' Lilinette answered. 'It's me – Nellie, you guys gotta go…'

'Where's Stark?' Neliel whispered, not heeding the warning – she unwillingly looked down, towards Shunsui, who lingered in mid air, at odd distance from both groups, and several feet above the mass of Shinigami, who'd begun to form ranks.

_Stark_, Ichigo oddly remembered, his memory sparked by the frown on Ishida's features, _the Primera. So this girl, then, was…_

_The Primera's guns? Come to life?_

'Don't gawk at me, dude,' Lilinette smirked, suddenly snapping him to attention. 'I just grew tall since we last saw y'all, and it don't fit me too good. Nellie. You guys gotta go,' she repeated, with increased urgency; her reiatsu felt like an immense, warm cloud. Ichigo could almost breathe it.

'Like fuck they're going!' Grimmjow snarled from behind. 'I ain't done here!'

She cringed for reasons Ichigo could not fathom. The young man sought to meet Urahara's glance, but found him focussed on Shunsui, who had not moved an inch, and stubbornly kept his eyes to the ground, his hat obscuring his face.

'Ya, an' you won't be done either,' Lilinette snapped over her shoulder, 'cuz if we stay ten minutes longer, ya know who's gonna come down here an' finish this for ya?'

The panther's ears twitched furiously, their tips leaning back in aggression.

'Is Aizen gonna pop from under our feet too, like that thing down there? Or jump down and fucking hypnotise us all again?' Ichigo exploded in his turn. 'What? You think we're afraid of you? Shunsui! What's gotten into you, man? Good Lisa ain't here to see you!'

'Leave him alone,' Lilinette said, softly. As if her words had carried for the tens of feet that separated them, the Captain of the 8th finally looked up, not to the girl, but to Ichigo, and the brief glance at his older friend's features made the Shinigami substitute's heart sink – just as before, with Urahara, there was a sense of despair and hopelessness…Shunsui looked away. 'He…' Lilinette whispered, biting her lower lip, 'he's trapped. He can't talk to any of y'all,' she said, for the first time looking at Urahara. 'If he does, his guys get in trouble. Bad trouble,' she clarified, her glance turning dark. 'People, you gotta go or I have to arrest you…Neliel...'

'You?' Shinji sneered. 'Arrest _us?_ Who d'ya think you are?_'_

'New _fucking_ Central, that is who,' Urahara answered, between gritted teeth; both Lilinette and Takeshi frowned deeply. 'Aizen's Central 46, reborn.'

'How would ya know _that?'_ she asked, casting an uncertain glance over her shoulder at Grimmjow. The Sexta's ears were still twitching, but their tips were attentively perked up, and suddenly, Ichigo wondered the same thing that the Espada did; the cloud of the Primera's reiatsu turned cold. 'Yeah,' she answered, defiantly lifting her chin. 'Central 46 fucking reborn, with fangs and masks. An' you wanna know what else is reborn?' she snarled. 'The Omnitskido, under Ulquiorra Schiffer, also…'

'…also with fangs and masks,' Takeshi breathed, stepping up. 'And with the full support of the former 2nd division, and the backing of the Sihohuin house who turned _first_. Or did you not know that, Urahara Kisuke?' he questioned, spitting the former Shinigami captain's name.

'All wars have traitors, 4th seat of the 3rd Division; some got to keep their heads, others got to keep their armbands,' Urahara said, dryly. 'This one just seems to have more than most – does _he_,' he harshly asked, gesturing towards Shunsui, 'Does he know what that thing down there _looked_ like?' Urahara harshly asked.

'Like fuck he doesn't!' Shinji exclaimed, half drawing his sword, despite the fact that Urahara had briefly motioned to stop him. The implied threat broke the odd balance that Lilinette and Neliel had managed to instil. As if a pane of glass had suddenly been shattered, Grimmjow and Ichigo were upon each other too quickly for anyone to stop them – far his part, the Sexta had literally flown at Ichigo through Lilinette's body, blurring her contours; darkness and teal, blinding light flew out as his claws met the Shinigami substitute's blade.

As one, more than half of the uniformed Shinigami below stormed upwards, surrounding the Vaizard group from all sides. The unwound blade of Rose's whip coiled around Takeshi's scythe – tens of Ceros criss crossed blue Quincy arrows in the sky, under the shining, cutting lines of Grimmjow's Gran Rey Cero. Bodies darted in all directions, with chaotic speed, and within a few more seconds, the remaining Shinigami, the ones who had belonged to the 8th, joined the fray, some joining their 3rd Division companions against the Vaizard, but some seemingly turning against them – or at least so it had appeared to Ichigo, amid the increasingly fierce efforts of his own battle; he thought he heard Neliel shyly pleading for them all to stop, but the Sexta's next attack dragged him too far from her to acknowledge whether he'd truly heard her or not.

All other things passed at maddening speed, too – he barely had time to Shumpo out of the way of one of Grimmjow's swipes before he saw Urahara rising up behind the Sexta, with red, scalding light dancing along Benihime's blade, and though his fury at Grimmjow had almost caused him to summon his inner Hollow again, Ichigo all but opened his mouth to warn him. It was not needed, for Kisuke's arm was thrown off course by a furious white Cero Ichigo did not immediately recognise, but whose strength amazed him.

Urahara staggered back in surprise of his own as the Cero quickly gained the female Primera's physical shape, and swiftly kicked Kisuke in the chest which such force that she sent him flying backwards for tens of feet before melting back out into what was now clearly recognisable as Stark's massive volley of cero projectiles.

'Watch…' Ichigo shouted, suddenly fearing his friend would be engulfed in the burning light, as Ukitake had once been; he did not have time to finish the words, for sweeping winds rose from below, tearing the entire chaotic group aside, away from their skirmishes, and littering them across the sky. By the time Ichigo himself redressed, he found Shunsui standing firmly at the centre of the silent void his attack had caused.

The Shinigami's back was turned to Ichigo himself, and his hat was lowered over his features, yet the boy could see the tense line of his jaw and sense the fragrant sorrow in his reiatsu – he stopped short, seeking to find where the Kaze Tensei had hurled Grimmjow off to. He half expected that in the silence, Shunsui would turn to him and speak, ending the confusion, the eerie sense of frozen anxiety that had once again gripped him once the adrenaline of battle had subsided…

Shunsui did not, his attention oddly fixed on Urahara; as all slowly rose to their feet, the captain of the 8th slowly drifted to stand in between Lilinette and the former captain of the 12th – facing her, Ichigo noticed. Facing her, not Urahara.

'Lilinette,' Shunsui said, as the girl furiously eyed him and leaned one knee down, gathering the appearance of a sprinter preparing to dash forth. 'Lilinette-_sama,'_ he whispered, tearing the honorific from his very heart; she lowered her glance and swallowed dry. 'We should withdraw before…'

His voice drifted as he looked down to the dead city, and though he still understood nothing of what had come to pass in the last two hours, Ichigo sensed his long estranged friend's pain as keenly as he sensed his own, and felt his sorrow in his voice as well as his reiatsu – as if it had been a rain of ash to damp all fires of hatred.

'_Captain_,' Shunsui said. 'We have to…'

'Yeah,' Lilinette said, decisively straightening and interrupting him. The look on her face gave Ichigo the same strange impression as before – the unmistakeable feeling of regret. 'Yo!' she yelled in a voice so shrill that somewhere behind Ichigo, Shinji covered his ears. 'Formation, and to senkai gates! Get!'

'Fuck!' Grimmjow roared.

'Before the Omnitskido gets here!'

'Like…' the Sexta began to protest, in the voice of one who'd just been burnt by a waterfall of scalding water.

'Before fucking Ulquiorra gets here an' his crew eats whatever's left alive!' the blonde Espada yelled again. 'Formation! Gates! Get!'

To Ichigo's surprise, which Urahara, Shinji and Ishida shared, the combined Shinigami forces of the 3rd and the 8th moved to obey – not without reluctance, the Shinigami substitute saw, noticing that the Shinigami of the 8th moved slower than those of the 3rd. Multiple Senkai gates nonetheless split the skies, and the black uniforms began to melt within them in disciplined rows.

'The fuck…'Ichigo whispered, shaking his head.

'Kyoraku Shunsui,' Urahara called as Shunsui himself began drifting upwards. 'Do you know what that _thing_ looked like?'

Shunsui looked over his shoulder, and, for a brief moment appeared as if he'd been about to answer; the odd, half Espada with the burning reiatsu stole between him and the Vaizard group.

'You wanna get your folk killed? Ha?' she spat to Shunsui, between gritted teeth; he looked past her.

'I don't only know what this looked like, Urahara,' he said, slowly, and clearly articulating each word. 'I know what _it_ actually _is,'_ he said, making the heart rending expression of despair which had so disheartened Ichigo before. 'And Aizen is not controlling it. Aizen has no idea what he is doing.'

'Fuck it, dude!' Lilinette shouted, turning on the former captain of the 8th. 'You can't fucking talk to 'em, that was how you got me to bring ya, you can't just bloody…'

'Will _you_ want to get my folk killed now, Lilinette-_sama_?_'_ Shunsui asked, icily staring down at her – for a second the cloud of her reiatsu grew scalding.

'Get out of here, all of you' she bitingly ordered, sustaining Shunsui's gaze. 'He ain't lying,' she put in over her shoulder, looking past Ichigo and to Neliel. 'Sadly…'

'I missed you, Lili,' Neliel honestly said; the young blonde Hollow lingered alone after all of her company, even a furious Grimmjow and a reluctant Shunsui had vanished through the last of the senkai gates.

'I'm sorry, y'all,' Lilinette non-directionally said.

* * *

Up next - There is always more than one side to any war.


	49. A beautiful friendship

Hey , all :)

We are sorry for the delay in updating - well, Abstract Error is. IVI is working on the story with machine gun fire in close range somewhere in east Afghanistan, is not _very _apologetic, and asks for the fact to be mentioned. Bad IVI! I, for one, would ignore the machine guns and focus on the story. Seriously, priorities :)

We both thank you for reading and commenting as always ./bow, and for your kind words ./bow again :)

Thus, Chapter 49 - Where not every Ukitake is a nice Ukitake, and the fact that someone just fought through hell doesn't even get mentioned. Just like real life. Only featuring Lilinette.

* * *

'Come in,' Ukitake Hayoto heard, through the disconcerting rumble of blood which clogged his ears. He painstakingly looked up, the blood on his brow oozing into an eye he could barely open.

Yet, he thought, even if he was not truly able to discern anything but contours, he would have recognized her soon enough.

'What the fuck, dudes!' Lilinette's voice painfully exploded. 'Ya arrested my _butcher_?'

The man was so numb that he felt little gratitude for the young woman's miraculously intelligent reaction; since he'd been apprehended, but a few hours before, he'd clung to the only means of justifying his presence in Sereitei without actual hope that it would get him through. It was simply fortunate that habit always had him carrying a few cuts of meat each time that he actually ventured inside the tall, white walls in broad daylight, yet, on this occasion, he'd ventured too far from the market place and too close to the actual Division grounds for the pretence to hold.

It could not have been helped.

Sereitei seemed to be in an extreme state of inward agitation; the central marketplace, which had always been somewhat loosely supervised, and had provided good cover of anonymity, was now bustling with both Arrancar and even Shinigami patrols – all looking on edge and armed to the teeth. Despite the fact that the ban on Shinigami presences outside of their divisions appeared to have been lifted, Hayoto's contact had been nowhere in sight.

In hind thought, the man considered, swallowing blood, it might have been wise to abandon the meeting altogether, and retreat to Rukongai. Yet, as if some cataclysm of unimaginable proportions had suddenly befallen the human world, the sudden upsurge of both plusses and demented Hollow which had suddenly crowded into the remote districts was a matter of great concern. Though merely a week had passed since the sudden increase in population, housing and food reserves had begun to wear desperately thin, under the pressure of frightened new souls; order, or whatever semblance of it still existed, crumbled under the deluge. The invading Hollow themselves seemed to be less interested in feeding, and more in fleeing from an unseen danger of some kind. More than ever, Hayoto felt desperate for information and had hoped against hope that his contact had been delayed by some mundane reason; he'd waited at the assigned spot for the better part of an hour, then decided to meet the woman half way, and headed out of the central marketplace and towards the 8th Division grounds.

The day had proven unlucky, and the choice unwise.

He'd been lifted off his feet when he had but sat foot outside the market; his protestations and his well maintained benign front had counted for nothing. He'd been bound, dragged to one of the many inconspicuous buildings that the Omnitskido employed for meetings, and beaten to within an inch of his life – he'd still counted his blessings.

The two Arrancar who had caught him seemed to be terrified of bringing a false lead upwards, and as terrified of killing or consuming a genuine lead; they'd gone to great lengths to assure that all damage they caused was non lethal and as painful as possible, seeking to obtain the certainty of guilt before escalating the matter. Their obvious fear of authority had brought Hayoto to gamble on the unlikeliest of means – if the two were too frightened to bother the _Cuarta_, they should have been positively petrified at the prospect of upsetting the _Primera._

Hayoto had, therefore, maintained that he'd been summoned into Sereitei by Lilinette Gingerback, shadow officer to the 3rd Division, who liked her beef cut to a certain standard. At first, he'd hoped that speaking her name would have some sort of momentous effect, and that the two would immediately back away, without verifying the information. It had not been the case, but, by the time when the two had sent word out for Lilinette to be summoned to verify his words, Hayoto had been consumed by too many pains to think of whether she would actually come, and of what she would do once she arrived.

'…an' I was really looking forward to dinner after how today turned out, ya shitheads,' she completed.

He thought he saw her propping her fists to her hips. He could not know for sure, and she did not seek eye contact. She simply advanced a step, making the other two withdraw for no reason that Hayoto could perceive.

What was certain, however, was the fact that although he could not sense reiatsu, he could still read a room. Lilinette's reaction had fully taken the wind out of his two captors; her words had come unbidden and unprompted. She had not even been asked the question she'd been called to answer before giving the correct response.

'Lilinette-sama…' one of the two said, in a very disappointed tone.

'What?' she bit back. 'Been seeing this guy 'cuz he cuts a mean steak. What do ya want? I'd think Ulquiorra has better things to do than watch my figure. Which ain't much to watch for anyways!'

'Lilinette-sama,' the other Arrancar intervened. 'It is not the first time that this particular individual has been observed in the central marketplace of Sereitei. He is very often seen in the company of a female Shinigami from the 8th Division…'

'So maybe she likes a good steak too, what the fuck do I know,' Lilinette shrugged. 'Or maybe they got something else going that you won't care about, unless you're the chastity belt brigade. Why exactly did you break up my day, again? Ain't you heard there's a war on? I'm still covered in all sorts o'shit!'

She had still not even looked his way.

'This plus,' the second Arrancar said, 'asserted that he was delivering goods to you. And yet he did not rush in the direction of the 3rd division grounds. He lingered in the marketplace…'

'That's a lot off the price right there,' Lilinette said, making eye contact for the first time. Though his knees burned and his arms, which had been twisted behind his back for hours, felt as if they had not even belonged to his body, he struggled to bow. 'I thought my stuff was fresh. That you'd hang about and look for a better buyer is not on, dude.'

'I apologise, Lilinette-sama,' Hayoto said, keeping his head bowed and his glance to the floor. Blood trickled from his scalp, soothingly dripping across the cuts in his cheeks. 'I… I did not think this a mistake worthy of death…'

She'd actually considered the thought for a second, leaving him to do little but admire the spark of natural intelligence – if they would succeed in establishing his utter lack of importance, there was no reason why his two captors would keep him alive, while any attempt of outright protection on her behalf might have lessened their front.

'Nah,' Lilinette said, considering him with her eye half closed. 'No need to get extreme. What did you guys want with him, anyways?' she asked, shifting her attention to the two Arrancar. ''Sides for a bit of punching training…'

The sense of incredulity that her entrance had managed to cause was starting to wear, and though her front was perfect, the glances that Hayoto's captors exchanged were not as encouraging as he might have hoped. Clearly, while Lilinette had some authority, it did not carry her overly far.

'Given the recently reinstated freedom of circulation,' one began, with a distinct, arrogant undertone, 'the Omitskido thinks it wise to monitor the places where Shinigami are free to mingle, and root out suspicious individuals. This particular one,' he continued, pointing at Hayoto, 'has been sighted numerous times, always almost in the same location and in the same company…'

'Just trying to make a living,' Hayoto mumbled, in an utterly subdued voice. His pretence served little – another repetition of what he'd been relentlessly saying for the past few hours, tested the Arrancar's patience. He was slapped across the face, and dispatched to the floor without recourse. He was too tired and injured to rise again – he simply spat the blood out of his mouth and bitterly looked up at Lilinette.

She'd clenched her teeth.

'Well, if ya were looking to know if he's really a butcher,' Lilinette said, 'now ya know. So,' she shrugged, 'anythin' else you got on him? besides loitering? Come on ya guys,' the young woman muttered, after the two exchanged a confused and rather ashamed glance. 'Ya called me out here, when I'm still covered in shit, for this? Boy, Ulquiorra's gonna be pleased with the two of you, I can tell ya that…'

One of the two shifted uncomfortably, causing fine dust to rise from the floorboards, and settle into the deep cuts on Hayoto's face. Lilinette impatiently tapped her foot, making it all worse, and the man coughed, feeling equally proud and ashamed of his display of weakness.

'Primera Espada,' a new voice said, swiftly opening the door behind the girl. 'You are wanted by the captain-commander.'

'Can the captain-commander _fucking_ wait until I've washed?' she shot, over her shoulder.

'No,' the voice had replied. 'He wants you _now_; you have absented yourself from a New Central meeting, leaving the 3rd with no representation. Aizen-sama expects a private explanation.'

'Tell him he can wait five minutes,' Lilinette had snapped. 'Ya still here?' she yelled, but despite the fact that the door had slammed shut, she'd looked small and scared. To Hayoto's ears, she certainly did not sound it when she spoke again.

'Right,' she said. 'If ya don't need nothing else, Aizen-sama wants me, an' since my boss is bigger than your boss…'

She turned away, with a spring in her step. One of the two Arranacar who'd held Hayoto moved to stop her.

'Oi,' Lilinette said, suddenly spinning about on her own. 'If y'all wanna keep this guy…could I still have my beef?'

And, despite the fact that wood chips were rubbing into his wounds, and that both his shoulders were probably dislocated, despite the fact that he stood a strong chance of being killed in light of his utter lack of importance, Ukitake Hayoto had to bite his lips to the blood not to laugh.

* * *

Up next - Lilinette meets Aizen. I would feel sorry for Aizen, but...nah, I actually do feel sorry for him.


	50. Hello, Clarice

Y'all did not see this one coming :)

Neither did IVI, Abstract may catch disapprovement tomorrow,as this is not officially IVI approved :P Or maybe not :) The premise was IVI's, and we've struggled back and forth with the actual text for for a while, thus on to

Chapter 50 - Where Aizen is an uncaring God.

Warnings - Sexual harassment. Not joking, this time. Look away if you don't want to see how it goes.

* * *

'Please, come in.'

Carried by kido, Aizen's warm voice clearly floated through the multiple panels which separated the 1st Division's reception room and Aizen Sosuke's personal quarters, causing Lilinette's hand to shake as she brought the first panel aside. She hesitated a moment more before continuing forward, her hands pushing aside the screens as her mind was still down on earth, and on the dead island. Her heart was nonetheless in her throat. Grimm had gone to the New Central debrief in her stead, though they hadn't really discussed the decision, they'd both guessed it was probably for the best – no one truly expected more than half-arsed answers out of him anyway, so it would be easier for him to skip some parts of what had gone down.

Knowing Grimm, he'd probably turned the entire thing into a shouting match over not being allowed to hunt down Kurosaki.

That too, she thought, swallowing dry, would have been for the best, except…

She didn't feel particularly nervous, just a little sick, but as she stepped through the final panel into the sparsely appointed personal quarters of Aizen Sosuke, Lilinette found that her thoughts had gone utterly still.

Merry sunlight warmed the room, while Aizen stood facing away from her, preparing what she automatically guessed was tea. Lilinette registered nothing as she sank down her knees, as it was polite, before the porcelain set that lay perfectly arranged on the floor: Aizen's walls, she'd noted, were decorated with exquisite paintings of samurai slaying demons, and large bookcases, filled with books written horizontally as well as vertically.

The skin of her face and her arms tingled strangely, as if electricity had raced through her veins, when Aizen finally kneeled down next to her and slowly poured out whatever it was he had been brewing. The liquid was steaming hot, dark and wonderfully aromatic. Also, somehow familiar, Lilinette thought.

'You'll have to forgive my lack of decorum,' Aizen said as he finished pouring his own cup and gracefully settled into seiza himself, 'my teachers in tea ceremony are no doubt cursing my very soul for defiling these ancient teacups with anything other than the proper drink, but I'm afraid this was a spur of the moment idea and I was left no time to procure the proper cups. Besides,' he half shrugged, 'I rather like these ancient tea cups, and think a cup, is, after all, a cup – one drinks out of it; no matter how old it is, that is the purpose it serves.'

He paused, taking a long sip and appearing to savor it before looking over the porcelain rim, prompting her to have a taste.

Lilinette automatically lifted the cup and looked inside it – the brown-grey, frothing liquid, with remainders of the tiny, white lumps of whatever it was he'd thrown in it, and were not yet dissolved, smelled sweet and inviting, and very comforting. She took a sip and found the flavor to be strong and rich, both sweet and creamy.

She had the vague feeling that she had once tasted something like this, but could find no answers in the thick fog of her past, and the very present danger of the man directly in front of her. She only recalled that when she'd tasted this brew before, it had been a bit bitterer, and there had been no white things floating on its top.

Aizen looked at her expectantly for a long moment and she felt her heart jump when she realized she'd forgotten herself, and not given him a reply.

'It's very good, Aizen-sama,' she said, telling the truth.

Aizen chuckled in response. 'It is, isn't it? It was actually Szayel Aporro who brought me this particular wonder.' Aizen laughed a little louder this time and looked at her with a wry expression on his face, 'I,' he jokingly admitted, 'might have heard grumblings that I am the only one who truly enjoys our teas and thus I tasked Szayel to find me a suitable replacement. Out of the five options presented to me, this was the most suitable – I would have introduced it at the New Central meeting today, but the _one_ person whose opinion I really wanted wasn't there. What do you think, Lili?'

Lilinette fidgeted as Seretei's unquestioned ruler smiled benevolently at her, and demanded an answer. She also wondered just who had been grumbling and what had happened to them, and hoped Stark was alright.

_Don't be stupid, Stark is always alright._

'I actually liked the tea, too,' she answered, struggling not to shorten words. It was true, though; she actually liked the tea better than whatever this was. She just didn't like everything else that went along with it. 'This is good, really.' Lilinette repeated, somehow guessing she would not like whatever went with this brew, either.

Aizen nodded pleasantly before relaxing, having another sip of his own cup and setting it down back to the trey. His gaze became brighter, amused and all-knowing, reminding Lilinette of Stark, when he was about to preach philosophy and Jushiro when he was happy to do paperwork, and talk about plants – both images comforting and warm.

'Why did you let Kyoraku Shunsui speak to Urahara Kisuke?' Aizen asked, still smiling.

All feelings of fear along with all conscious thoughts fell away from her, as Aizen sat patiently and waited. She struggled for an answer, as she sat, warm cup in her hands, falling into a void.

It felt like an instant, but it must have been a lot longer than she'd thought, because Aizen spoke again before she could even summon a word. He hadn't mentioned it in the meeting – if he had, Grimm would have told her something, found some way to warn her…

_If he'd been left the time to,_ she suddenly thought.

'I must admit, I considered several reactions to that question, but quite this I hadn't expected.' Aizen said, slightly leaning forward. 'You look like the right side of your face is having a seizure, Lili,' he added in clear amusement.

Lilinette immediately tried to put her face back to normal. She'd had no idea she'd been making a face at all, and suddenly felt overwhelmingly scared of coming off as not taking the Creator seriously enough.

She shifted a bit on her knees, shifted back and the answer came almost unbidden. 'I let Kyoraku talk to whomever the dude in the hat was 'cuz there was a lot going on, and I didn't think it was worth it to hem him up in front of his dudes with everyone watching. It did not seem on to smack him for just talking, and I figured we'll need the 8th again an' they won't love us much if we turned them in to the Omnitskido…again.'

_Ulqiuorra was there,_ Lilinette realized, in a sudden burst of panic and clarity. _He was there all along, watching, spying, not lifting a finger…And he saw and heard…_

Oddly enough, her first thoughts were not of herself; the first fear that crossed her mind was for Shunsui – though it was his fault, the girl tried to tell herself, his fault…But he had so very few people left now…

Aizen stopped her from inwardly exploding by nodding, then taking another sip of the not-tea. She'd already forgotten what he'd called it, if he'd called it anything at all.

'I actually liked your handling of the situation.' The Creator agreeably said. 'Given how little we know about the capabilities of that particular type of manifestation, your inexperience, and the explosive nature of the various loyalties involved, I would say you acted perfectly.'

Lilinette's relief was as immense as it was short-lived.

Aizen sat his cup back down. 'I can also somewhat imagine why you and Grimmjow omitted the detail of inter-Shinigami communication from your debrief to the Omniskido and New Central. You've come a long way in your communication skills, by the way - both of you. Grimmjow is becoming more and more of a pleasant surprise.'

Aizen gave a slight tip of his cup. It was very true, though it didn't say much.

'I would however have expected you to privately speak to Gin about Kyoraku Shunsui's trespass, even prior to the meeting. Why did you not, Lili?'

'Because Gin's got a creepy grin and he likes pointing at things with shooting out Shinsou,' she rapidly answered, though she knew she was lying, and that he was likely seeing right through her.

Aizen chuckled, and Lilinette felt as though he understood both what she had said and what she had thought. 'And yet, you've repeatedly given Gin your mind, on matters of Rugonkai, and whatever else.'

That was an extremely polite way of saying it, and Aizen unsubtly arched an eyebrow, as if to offer her a chance to cut the bullshit without losing face. _C'mon, get real with me_, she heard Grimm saying in the back of her head. _Get real, girl._

'I just didn't want my guys to get shaken up, is all – it was a real tough day, an'…' Lilinette answered, inexplicably feeling as if the tiny amount of electricity that was ripping beneath her skin had been fighting to push out a full confession out through her very pores. 'And it didn't want it ending in a decimation at the 8th,' she said, lowering her glance.

Aizen hummed agreeably, looking at her over the rim of his cup before setting it down again, while Lilinette again shifted around her knees. She didn't remember it being so hard to sit like this.

'Protecting your group and trying to solve problems away from strangers is understandable, and even admirable,' he gently said. 'That is why I have told you I approve of your actions in the field, and did not see it fit to mar a triumph by bringing this up before the other Shadows. Yet, there are certain things which should not be hidden from my sight. Once, long ago, it might have made sense for you to hide everything and trust no one, a solitary soul clinging to life in a desert full of predators.' he followed. 'That time is gone, _I_ have erased it, and you, Lili, now serve as a vital part of a much larger body. If you keep secrets, you don't gain the benefits of having other minds and resources to solve the problem, and it festers, becoming everyone's problem.'

Aizen closed his eyes for a moment and collected himself, looking one of those funny stiff statues in front of the shrines Lilinette sometimes saw near woods, or before home fires.

_Stop fucking calling me Lili,_ she thought.

'Here,' Aizen said, unrolling a parchment before her, 'are my orders that you are to be control of your own deployment schedule. In light of your success today, I have thought on it, and decided, against advice received, that you are apt enough for it. If you have any difficulties, I'm assured that there are those who will assist you.' Aizen's smile now showed the edges of his perfectly formed, white teeth.

'Not all agree, yet I personally find that you've done well in both Rukongai and in the human world,' the Creator followed, kindly. 'This, I feel, is further authority justly deserved.'

Lilinette spoke before she even realized it. 'Does this mean the next time, we'll try to go down before that _thing_…'

…_it_ swallows a whole island? She might have said, but it was not needed.

Aizen's indifferent shrug gave his answer even before he'd opened his mouth. 'If you can manage it, I have nothing against it; of course, since you have proposed this, you can also give me a detailed plan as to how and why that conforms to my vision. Can you give me a how and why, Lili?'

Lilinette felt her heart fall in disappointment, but she wisely showed nothing. Her heart then stopped altogether as Aizen leaned forward and gently caressed the side of her face.

'I'm placing a great deal in your hands as is, for one as young as you are. Are there any reasons I should doubt doing so?' He softly whispered, absent mindedly, as the gentle touch minutely trailed along her cheekbone. Lilinette felt that she could distinguish every ridge of his fingertips.

She started to answer, but only managed a stuttered gasp; she did not dare to look away from him.

'Hm?' his fingers slowly moved along her cheek, to her chin, descending towards her throat.

Lilinette felt a familiar and sudden flush of anger and took strength in it. The one _they_ were had never once bowed to this man, and she would not start now.

'You're a piece of work, ya know that? You don't give a flying fuck about anyone else but ya expect all of us to just jump up and be your little soldiers?' she bit off with a sudden snarl, not caring that Aizen had gone utterly still and was staring at her intently. 'Well, let me tell you something, I've spent the last year working my ass off, not for ya, but on your behalf. I've been to all the fucking meetings, taken all the fucking notes, made all friends I did not wanna make, and had Grimm writing reports he did not wanna write, and did all the shit you asked for. So that it all be good, in your world - why ya doubt me?'

She would have gone further, but Aizen's broad, genuine smile killed the fire as quickly as his blade might have.

'Because I do not like you lying to me,' he said as he breathed deeply and gazed at her through lidded eyes. On that moment under Aizen's warm, caressing gaze, Lilinette realized just why Aizen was so terrifying.

He understood everything. He truly, actually, did. Even things that he didn't really _know._

'Why would you think I'm lying, Aizen-sama?' Lilinette breathed, now openly trembling as his fingers slowly descended her throat.

Aizen hummed again, content as a mother looking upon her babe. 'Your mind moves faster than your body, and so it betrays you every time. You have a habit of shifting when you're evasive, not bringing your hand up to your face. You also immediately went on the offensive at the suggestion that you were deceitful, and quickly affirmed a number of very true facts that, though supportive of your performance, have nothing logical to do with my affirmation.'

Lilinette was aware only of her remarkably clear breathing as Aizen's hand slowly quested down towards the valley of between her breasts, touching neither, and then grazed over her collar bone. Vaguely, she was became aware of ringing in her left right ear, and fear.

_Fear. _

'I swear, Aizen-sama', she said, now beginning to truly tremble as Aizen leaned next to her and breathed in the scent of her hair, 'I just want to _live_, find some peace where we don't have to kill folk, an' not have all the people hate me. That is all I am tryin' to do…'

Aizen chuckled. 'Swearing by me, to God, by now?' Aizen asked as he leaned back slightly and resumed his absent minded exploration of her neck. 'And invoking a spiritual authority, again avoiding directly answering the question? No, no…' he tutted her, lovingly raking a single nail from the middle of her neck to her bare stomach where it did lazy circles about her exposed belly button.

He pulled her in close, almost as if to kiss, but stopped short; the weight of his reiatsu was the weight of death. He waited until she again met his full gaze involuntarily. There was no desire there, only that awful understanding.

'Do you believe the world you lived in was just and fair, Lilinette Gingerback? Do you think it was perfect and finished, that uncounted millennia of selfless acts and hidebound tyrants have made it a better place?' he asked her.

'No,' she replied.

'Do you think your station has improved, that you have grown far further than you might have? Do you trust that I will never stop until I have reached perfection?'

'Yes,' she replied again, his eyes met hers and swallowed her whole. Aizen hummed again, seemingly in pleasure at the admissions.

'Now, that was the truth. Do you feel better?'

Lilinette stayed silent.

She did not feel better.

Then, Aizen dropped his hands and sat away from her. The smile he gave her now was not a sick imitation and conveyed neither threat or pleasure. It was simply Aizen.

'You will grow in strength and beauty and find bliss in the arms of another man than Stark.' He said, kindly. 'You will be a brilliant fire in this world, if only you will let yourself be true to me and do not force me to waste who you could become.'

Aizen took the papers that had lain forgotten between them and put them into her hands and, pressing his hands over hers, he laid himself bare in his words and his eyes - the first and last glance Lilinette would have into the true mind of her creator.

'It's was all a cycle, Lili.' He softly spoke. 'Stark is, and was always right - but neither he, nor his kin, nor anyone had the power to break it. _I_ am beyond the cycle, and _I_ will be its master.'

At the very same time, in another and very different part of Sousuke Aizen's perfect world, Ukitake Hayoto awoke.

His arms still bound behind his back, covered in blood, mud, and quite a number of things he preferred not to think about. It was night, and at some point, it must have been raining; he hadn't felt it, but his clothes were thoroughly soaked, and the ground beneath him was disgustingly slushy.

Hayoto struggled to his knees, then, to his feet, finding that placing weight on his right knee was excruciatingly painful. It did not really matter, just like the fact that maintaining balance with both arms tied, and one frail knee did not matter. He was, miraculously, still alive – his captors must have vented a last remnant of frustration, and simply dumped him as far outside of their walls as they could.

They'd believed Lilinette.

He did not dwell on the thought.

Wincing as he leaned his shoulder on a nearby wall, the man pushed himself forward, inching his way towards the street he could guess, just ahead; from there, wherever it was, he'd find his way towards the shop, and then home, towards a new day.

Faint orange light bathed the streets he was heading towards, and shadows fled across the alleyway's opening. At first, he thought that the fact that some bore no human resemblance was due to the speed at which they moved, and to his own rattled senses. He dragged himself forward, only to have to dismiss his original thought as wishful thinking – the shadows which crossed the orange canvas of the alleyway were truly not human. Plusses and small Hollow alike fled, alongside each other, without looking over their shoulders.

There were no screams, but, in the distance, from somewhere in the vastness of the forests which surrounded the farthest districts of Rukongai, a gigantic limb of flame clawed at the sky.

* * *

Hui, I really wanted that one out the door.

Really, thanks for reading and commenting :)

Up next - The King of Kings in all his power and might. To read, Grimmjow.


	51. The Talking Cure

Hello again :) Bet this one was unexpected too, and no, we can't keep this posting pace up ;) But, these three chapters naturally flow together, and were actually written in one go. And my posting tonight is IVI approved, which is always a plus ^^

Thank you for all your kind words, as always, on to (short) Chapter 51 -

Where - Grimmjow does sexual harassment therapy, Grimmjow style. Freud and Jung would run screaming in horror.

Erm, I know I should not need to say this, but bad language abounds, Grimmjow has absolutely no manners, and the F-word flies. It is Grimm and Lili, just sayin' :)

* * *

_To Marius, for being Grimmjow to growing up Abstract's Lilinette._

* * *

Lilinette had no true recollection of how long she'd sat on her massive, mahogany desk, with her forehead pressed to her knees, bundled in tiredness, sorrow and inapprehension. It was dark outside by now, but she had not noticed that either. She did not truly remember what she'd thought of during that time – this memory loss was different than the one before, though. Then, she couldn't remember what she had felt. Now, she did not want to.

'Busted, eh?' Grimmjow asked. 'I'd just come to tell ya that I put all the kids to sleep after all the playin' today – Takeshi's still running around like a headless chicken, but that just Takeshi… an' that Aizen didn't say nothing about Shun's running his mouth at the meeting.'

'But,' he said, closely looking at her, 'ya got busted, didn't you?'

She'd tiredly looked up and wondered when he'd come in, or how long he'd been watching her coming to grips with everything.

'Totally,' she whispered. 'Totally fucking busted, dude. How the fuck did Aizen know…How the fuck didn't we keep an ear out for Ulquiorra…'

'Ya, well, if ya thought he wasn't watching when he let us go down there, you're as deluded as I was the first time I went after Kurosaki. Thought Stark was s'posed to be smarter than think that Ulquiorra an' Aizen keep their fucking word…'

'I ain't Stark!' she said, looking up in anger.

'Yeh, you are Stark.' Grimmjow returned. 'Only, right now, Stark wouldn't look like he wanted a cuddle…What's up?' he said, measuring her though half lidded eyes, and taking a tentative step closer.

'Don't you fucking come near me!' Lilinette spat; he actually frowned, and took an unexplainable, defensive step back.

'Stark wouldn't be yellin' at me either,' Grimmjow said, with unexpected calm. 'So, did Aizen call in to tell ya we're through at the 3rd? Cuz we didn't squeal on Kyoraku tellin' his crew the truth?' he indifferently asked, as if Aizen's manifest displeasure had had no consequence on him.

'No,' Lilinette replied, laughing hysterically. 'No, we ain't through, we got a _promotion_!' she said, throwing Aizen's neatly written parchment at him, as if she'd shot a Cero; the Sexta caught it in mid-air, quickly read it, then drew a sharp breath.

'This is fucked up,' he said, sitting down with his legs crossed. 'You ain't comin' between me and Kurosaki if that happens again, tho', Lili…Lili,' Grimmjow repeated, seeing that she was hysterically laughing and crying at the same time, 'chill. Chill, bitch!' he commanded, if only to make her look up in furious focus. 'Chill. What went down? You're all hormonal. Talk sense to me, slowly.'

She'd only realized she'd been crying once the words had been spoken, but quietly wept a bit longer, and once more rested her forehead on the knees she tightly hugged to her chest before bringing herself to tell him – about the bedroom meeting, about the new not-tea, about the fact that Aizen had run his hand from her breasts to her stomach even as he praised her. Of how she'd at first wanted to be praised, for all that she'd fucking done, for all she'd fucking suffered and lost, even if she didn't outright show it…

'He touched ya boobs?' Grimmjow exploded. 'You still ain't got none!'

'We got promoted,' she whimpered, still feeling Aizen's hand on her cheek. 'None of the Shinigami of the 8th gonna die for my fucking up with controlling Shun and the guy in the fucking hat…So I guess we all win,' Lilinette whispered. 'We all win…'

Her voice and words got drowned in tears, and she rested her forehead on her knees again, knowing that somehow, they had won together, but she had personally lost.

'I so thought I had this, Grimm, but I don't, cuz…if I did…' she tried to say, her voice drowned in sobs.

'Don't be chicken shit.' Grimmjow said. 'Hear me? Never be chicken shit.'

Lilinette looked up through her tears, finding he was standing once more. 'Ya trust me?' Grimmjow hissed, an odd glitter in his eyes. 'Ya trust me to be ya mate, through an' through – trust that ya an' Takeshi an' the 3rd are _my_ crew, now?'

She closed her eye, feeling new, hot tears where the Creator's hand had been, and nodded.

'Then, chill, Lili. Chill, an' listen. You're a chick,' Grimmjow began, running his fingers through his teal hair. 'Awesome chick, but still, only a chick. It's still all with the hormones, nothin' wrong with the hormones, but still with the hormones.' he added, when she started to frown. 'What's Aizen gonna scare you with other than makin' rape face at ya? We don't know what ya're gonna be capable of, in terms of power; maybe you're fucking growing into a second Stark, an' if that's the case, well... he got to worry. Plus, babe, we just saw what he ain't truly fought, an' everyone thinks we beat it, tho' both of us know we didn't.'

'Grimm…' Lilinette whispered.

'If I knew I could bust his teeth in, I'd go at him now, for touching ya, babe.' He followed, in a soft tone. 'If ya'd go back to Stark, he'd try to bust his teeth without knowing if he could or could not even get near him, but babe, it's all a scare tactic. The only thing Aizen's got up on us is that he thinks he understands there is a second coming. We don't understand it, Lili, but we know there's one. We've learnt that much - this is _our_ second coming already. If he thinks that his understanding gonna make sure there's no coming after that, he better think again. There's always coming, again, if we like it or not.'

Grimmjow sat back on the floor, and looked up, and she sniffled lightly, feeling surprised at his attitude.

'Ya a chick. Think it like this - what's Aizen gonna try an' scare you with? What else did he have to scare me with than pissin'? I am a cat, we mark territory by strength, hormones, hissing and urine. When Tousen took my arm, Aizen pissed on the all the corners of my world, Lili, he got me. An' he got me good, Lili, he got me real good.'

'He needs all of us scared for his own shit to go down, and tho' I don't understand the second coming, I learn on my paws; cats, Aizen forgot, do that, too…'

'You don't get it, dude,' she said, shaking her head. 'I've never even been kissed; Stark…' Lilinette whispered. 'Aizen touched me as if it was nothing…'

'What, you want me to kiss ya, now, to make the hormones go away?' Grimmjow responded, making a disgusted grimace.

'Bring it,' Lilinette fired back, then laughed through her tears, the remains of the day and the ashes of an island.

'Just gonna go bring Apache to give ya, like, a sisterly hug,' Grimmjow laughed in his turn. 'Since I don't want to kiss Stark, anyways.'

He paused, and drew a deep breath.

'I get you're shaken, babe, but don't make more of Aizen than that he tried to freak you out so he has ya in hand. He's smart, an' strong, an' he knows what to piss on with each an' every one of us. Don't make more of it than it is - just Aizen being Aizen, 'K? Put it in perspective, babe. He had a one up on ya, an' he used it to scare ya. That's all, babe. That's all.'

'Don't call me babe,' Lilinette muttered, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. 'It was really scary, Grimm,' she said, looking him straight in the eyes.

'Would've been worse if it was Gin doin' it,' Grimmjow remarked. 'Put it in perspective, Lilinette,' he said. 'We did a great thing down there; you weren't perfect, an' I wasn't perfect, but we did somethin'. We handled it right, and all the fuckers up in Central know it.'

'Even if I got in between you and Kurosaki?' Lilinette asked.

'I have a feelin' we'll be back down there soon enough, no matter what Central thinks - I'll get him one of these days,' Grimmjow answered, leaning back on his arms. 'Dontcha worry 'bout him. We handled it right, and Aizen thought to put a quick muzzle on before our balls got too big for his pants. That's how he rolls, Lilinette. Don't let him scare you like that, dude. Ain't worth it.'

He picked up the parchment and read it through once more, then took a deep breath.

'Ya know what this means, right?' he asked, a moment later. 'He said he's let us completely rid of fucking pale face, in this order.'

'Yea,' Lilinette whispered. 'We're free of Ulquiorra's scheduling…'

'That's not what he means, dude,' Grimmjow refuted, shaking his head. 'What he writes is that we can go wherever we want without Schiffer lookin' in. What he means is that Schiffer's gonna be on our asses more than ever before.'

Grimmjow paused, keeping his eyes on the parchment as he spoke.

'You gotta watch yourself, kiddo, an' not for Aizen touching your boobs. Your little side deal in Rukongai…' he added, narrowing his eyes. 'You gotta watch that, Lilinette, real close.'

'I didn't think ya knew about it, in full, like…' the girl softly said.

'Ya, cuz my momma made me stupid, an' you never gave never gave me hints – come on, get real.' Grimmjow smirked. 'We have lots to lose here; I ain't tellin' ya to not do what you think ya got to do, or that I ain't got your back, but Lilinette, watch it. The bat gonna be watching it too. An' he ain't gonna like what he sees, if you let him see you – an' the next time Aizen calls ya in for a little bedroom meeting, Lilinette, Tousen gonna be there too. Like he was with me.'

'Getting' felt up's gonna be the last thing on ya mind when Tousen shows up,' Grimmjow said, baring his teeth; Lilinette felt tears running down her cheeks again, and the Sexta felt he'd had about enough of both hormones and doubts. 'Dude, gonna get ya Apache so y'all can talk about period pains an' how men are pigs, an' shoes, an' other girly shit,' he concluded, darting to his feet. 'I can't look at ya cryin' no more.'

She simply sniffled, but Grimmjow did not touch her to offer comfort; oddly for one who'd never been shy of hitting her, knocking her on the head or patting her on the back so hard that she almost fell over, it seemed like he was afraid to.

'He thought he took away my pride, when he took my arm,' the Sexta said, looking away from her. 'He tried same with you, now. Don't let him, Lilinette. He can't take nothin' from you that you don't give.'

'Why the fuck d'ya call me Lilinette for?' she mumbled, feeling far less than neat and completed.

'Cuz ya look like you just grew ten inches and aged ten years.' Grimmjow dryly said, over his shoulder. 'Can always call ya babe,' he added, using Sonido to get past the door – with not a second to spare, though the flurry of purchasing orders, finance reports and maintenance files she'd flung at him fluttered helplessly to the ground, no more than a foot away from her desk.

'An' I ain't doin' no fucking reports!' he yelled, from way down the corridor.

* * *

Up next - Lili is of course doing exactly what she should not be doing, under the circumstances.

Don't despair, Stark fans, he'll be back after that ;)


	52. Truly Demotivational

No, sadly not a Grimmjow chapter, but hey, at least Lili gets to have lunch with someone who is not mean to her.

...or, well. Was just trying to keep a positive mind.

Thank you guys for watching and leaving us a note so we know that you are :)

Thus, on to chapter 52,

Where - Lili seriously does not seem to catch a break. Maybe she really is making friends with the wrong sort.

Oh, and to quote the Game of Thrones Stark words, _Winter is coming._

* * *

'Good afternoon, ma'am,' Hayoto courteously greeted as she stepped through the doorway and into the old butcher shop. Lilinette returned the man's false smile with a tired one of her own, as she took in the decor: dozens of instruments of his trade lay spread out in a neat row over a clean, but worn table.

The various knives, hooks and grinders glinted and gleamed with polished brilliance, though a few of were stained with the thick, black streams of newly congealed blood. Through the slit of a barely open door, she could partly discern the unidentifiable carcasses of massive animals, neatly skinned, carved and hanging in open display from hooks. And, if she wasn't mistaken, the knife that had been meant to kill her was hanging up by the hand washing sink, in full display, neatly stacked above an ironic vase of flowers.

'Just in time for lunch,' he added. 'Must be that infamous sense of smell you keep speaking of.'

Only a couple of days had passed since his lucky escape from the Omnitskido, and her own terrifying brush with the Creator. Lilinette had naturally expected that the man's wounds would be healed by now, and had been quite surprised at the fact that his face was still bruised, and that his movement was still slow and awkward. Despite the cuts which stretched across his cheek, however, the man continued to smile in a thoroughly infuriating, self-assured manner.

_Typical – no thanks, no nothing…Such an asshole_, Lilinette thought, feeling her smile beginning to hurt, _especially since I just saved his ass and can send him off to Gin anytime I want_, she thought, not a little petulantly.

Hayoto's easy smile faded somewhat into a relaxed line as he quietly motioned for her to take a seat at the table before returning to work on what smelled like a very delicious looking soup.

'Beef stew,' Hayoto replied as he carelessly stirred the brew, 'as you can imagine, it's pretty easy for me to make: fresh ingredients.' he said, giving a vague wave to the surrounding shop.

She did not know how to respond, so she simply sat, feeling rather uneasy, and wondering whether he'd appreciated her initiative in coming out to see him. She'd questioned herself over it quite a bit, as well, finding that she was too worried to give in to the fear, and not make sure he was actually all good. She'd thought that maybe not being shy of seeing him, now that she knew Ulquiorra was watching her more than ever would serve to strengthen their fronts and protect them both.

She didn't really know what she thought, the girl admitted to herself.

Aizen knew that she was lying, though – and though she knew she was, Lilinette still had no idea what she was actually lying about.

She just knew that there was something.

'I think you might appreciate the chance of _actually_ sampling my wares,' the man ironically said, stealing a glance over his shoulder. 'Hell of a way to gain a new customer,' he chuckled, making her smile in turn.

_Well_, Lilinette thought, _that was almost thanks._

Together, he and Lilinette watched the stew for a few minutes. Soon, however, Lilinette grew tired of watching beef and vegetables boil and took to wandering around the shop, pausing occasionally to half-heartedly examine the various implements. She came to the conclusion that, while she loved eating proper food again, it certainly looked a lot less appetizing when one knew where it came from. Briefly, she considered the ironic comparison between some other meals that she had had and gave herself a rather dumb grin.

'So, Ma'am…'

'Call me that again and you're going through the fucking wall,' Lilinette interrupted.

Hayoto blinked in surprise before chuckling light, 'Very well...'

'Lilinette,' she said, 'and you can also drop the nice guy act cuz it's pissing me off, an' we both know you're anything but a nice guy.'

Hayoto gave Lilinette a long glance, before turning away to fetch a matching set of bowls and chopsticks. He soon returned to the low lying table, and after serving her, sat down himself and took a long sip from the broth, sighing with pleasure as he did so. When he looked back up at the girl, however, he no longer had his easy going smile in place, in fact, he no longer looked happy at all.

She tried the stew, finding it missed a bit of salt, and that his silence was exasperating.

'I have to apologize sincerely for my treatment of you thus far, Lilinette. I was raised to better manners, but acquired habits, unfortunately, you know...' he said, again leaving his sentence unfinished, and waving vaguely at the whatever he'd meant to imply.

'Ya OK?' the girl scowled. 'Normally you knock me no matter what I do. Didn't think that the other day would be enough to change that.'

Hayoto shifted minutely, a movement so small that it could simply have been read at him being stiff or uncomfortable in his posture. Yet, Lilinette guessed, it had been as big a lapse as she'd ever seen the man commit, and assured her that their last encounter had, indeed, changed nothing. He did not even bother to deny it.

_Such an asshole…_

'I had allowed myself to doubt that you fully understood my position, here,' Hayoto said. 'I think persistence in that, after the other day would prove me quite foolish.'

He once more remained silent, and took another sip of his soup; silent heartbeats ticked by as Lilinette waited impatiently, trying not to fidget under the man's searching gaze, and willed him to start talking already. She knew she was on to something big, she'd always sensed it, but she had absolutely no clue how to proceed. More seconds ticked by.

'Well, get on with it!' she exploded in a frustrated huff, 'what the hell is with ya'?'

She fancied she heard the gears grinding away in his head.

'That's what I'm trying to figure out about you,' he said, drawing himself further up so that he sat almost straight. She swore he hadn't blinked in at least a minute. 'An immensely powerful Hollow...a monster...sent out by the same traitor who casually orders the deaths of thousands of innocents. A monster who looks like a young girl, who's in charge of a group of Shinigami...Shinigami whom I know to hate the occupation, but still obey her...this girl Hollow who tries to avoid violence against a clearly violent crowd and who seems to know my brother...this Hollow who has not killed me, taken me in or abandoned me when I was.'

Lilinette stared back, not understanding where the man was leading.

'By now, you must know that I was once linked to the Omnitskido,' Hayoto said, making himself sound almost as if he'd been taking mercy on her, 'and though you are…what I would assume is uncharacteristically discrete on the subject, you've known that I am not working alone since the first time we have met.'

The conversation was threatening to grow from interesting to downright dangerous and Lilinette drifted between itchy curiosity and freezing dread.

_Because I feel you're lying to me,_ Aizen sweetly whispered, in her thoughts.

'Maybe…' she said, softly, 'maybe…'

_Maybe I don't want to know, after all. Maybe…_

'Maybe that's all I oughta know, dude…' the girl said, pleadingly looking up.

'Maybe,' Hayoto smiled, in a way that she painfully recognized. 'Eat your stew.'

…_drink your tea…_

She spun the bowl in her hands as she had spun the cup.

'Almost half of the Gotei now dwells outside of Sereitei's walls, sword less and soul less,' he followed. 'The 7th, the 9th, the 10th, whatever remains of the 13th…and none of them - indeed, none among _us_ will ever submit to Aizen's rule,' he said, leaving her to feel helpless and soul less in turn.

She took a deep breath, and closed her eye, wondering at the courage of the man before her and wondering at herself; the memory of Ukitake's arms shielding her from a river of fire rolled through her mind along with a streets paved with sunlight and gold.

'Multiple groups like mine are active throughout West Rukongai and within Sereitei,' Hayoto continued. 'We rarely meet and we truly coordinate on very few issues, but our goals…'

Lilinette shook her head, and he paused, for a moment appearing doubtful; she wondered whether he too had knew that one of these _groups, _while in pursuit of common _goals_, had attempted to kill his brother. That another, perhaps even his, group, had struck at the 13th, killing dozens.

'You already suspected all of this,' Hayoto concluded, in a quiet voice. 'I can no longer pretend that you do not.'

'Neither can I, I guess,' she whispered; they remained silent, and she simply stared at her hands, feeling Aizen's hand on her cheek and not knowing if there was anything to say left. The game was at a point where she felt as if she'd have to arrest him, or wipe her mind clean of his existence – this, she thought, was a lie and a danger too far.

'I just came to see if you was alright, and tell ya I can't help ya anymore. You'll need to stay away from me…' Lilinette suddenly decided, standing up and straightening. She felt somewhat slowed – her body kept changing every day, and each inch she gained made her feel unsteady on her feet.

'I reminded us both of this because I find myself in a position where I need your help, Lilinette,' he said, dryly, sensing her haste to retreat.

_Well, that's new…now, only,_ _you find yourself…_she thought to say. For some reason she didn't; she simply looked down at him, counting the five stitches which held the wound on his cheek together, and feeling more furious than she'd felt in months.

'You know, I hope,' he continued, in his unpleasantly arrogant and detached voice, 'that we have, for better or worse learned to take care of ourselves, here.'

She frowned, and Hayoto lowered his forehead, smiling thinly and transparently denying her and the 3rd recognition.

'With both of us knowing what we know, I would not be asking you for anything, unless I thought it crucial. I need some information,' the man slowly followed. 'Information that I pray you have; as we both know, I can ill afford to venture into Sereitei anytime soon, and the matter is…pressing, to me.'

'You are probably the greatest asshole in history,' Lilinette muttered, turning away and starting towards the door, feeling determined never to return – to this place, to this man, to his people…For the first time since she'd set foot in Rukongai, she found herself too tired to even attempt to understand him, and, for the first time in her young memory, felt herself too sad to argue.

_They look at ya, but in fact they look through ya. S'all that ever happens. _

'You wanted me to drop the act,' he said, barring her path. 'I dropped the act.'

'Yeah,' the Arrancar coldly responded. 'But, ya know what, whatever the fuck _this_ is, we're through – if Grimm and Takeshi still wanna come round to count how many parts of you are left after ya beaten a Menos all by yourself, they can do it. Ya don't know what I've seen over the past weeks, dude, an'…'

'I have something to show you,' Hayoto said, heading towards the back room, as if he'd not heard her. The girl expected him to look over his shoulder, at least. He didn't – not even once.

'Four men have died to bring me this,' Hayoto said, from somewhere in the back of the room. His voice carried no outright expectation, and irked her all the more, just because of that.

'What do ya think I owe ya, dude?' Lilinette asked, shaking her head. 'What…'

'Nothing,' Hayoto simply answered.

She followed, without knowing why, and made her way amid huge beef carcasses, towards the deepest corner of the chamber; there, hanging on an ordinary hook, was a carcass that was so unlike any of the rest that Lilinette wondered how she had not seen it before, even amid the many others. The black tentacles which sprouted from its torso hung onto the floor, dripping some sort of dark, thick liquid. Its mouth hung ajar, revealing three rows of serrated teeth, and a bloated purplish tongue, which looked akin to an octopus' tentacle, limply out, sticking to one of the thing's many arms. Its body had been ripped apart at what might have been its waist, and seemed to be empty on the inside – no intestines or organs, simply disgustingly smooth, black flesh.

She drew a deep breath, feeling grateful for the fact that the thing did not stink – or at least, not yet – and stole a glance to Hayoto's tense features. The man was not looking to her, his attention painfully captivated by the corpse before him, and the expression on his features caused Lilinette's heart to stir. For a brief moment, the man looked neither self-assured nor detached. His gaze had grown distant and riddled with the same sadness that filled his older brother's eyes, and whatever anger the Hollow had felt vanished, leaving ashen tiredness in its wake.

_They're here,_ she thought. _It's been only two weeks, and they're already here… _

'Will you tell me what this is?' he asked, through clenched teeth. 'A number of these creatures appeared out of nowhere, in the forest which surrounds the outer edges of Rukongai, on the night of my release from the Omnitskido…Only a normal Garganta was visible, but these, instead of normal Hollow began to pour through; others simply seemed to materialize out of nothing, and most disintegrated as soon as they were killed. Great efforts were made to preserve this one…'

Lilinette nodded hastily.

'Under different circumstances, I would be looking to my Shinigami allies for information, but I cannot access Sereitei now, while _we_ all need to know what these are so that we learn how to fight them; these are not Hollow and even minor Hollow flee from them. They move faster than anything any of us has ever seen, and in their wake…'

'These should not be here,' the girl said, softly. 'Central said they can't be crossin'…'

'…in their wake, there is not simple destruction and death. In their wake, there simply is nothing, as if the very confines of Rukongai were dissolving. As if our world were simply a piece of chalk, submerged in water.' He finished, in a whisper.

She spun around, crossing her arms over her chest.

'Your friends, your…allies, your…_groups_,' Lilinette began, through gritted teeth. 'Do you know they tried to kill Shiro?'

Hayoto shuddered, but remained silent, lowering his forehead.

'Did you know that they tried to kill _me_? The other half of my soul?'

'Will you tell me what this is, Lilinette?'

'Yes,' the girl said, in the end of all things. 'But tho' I can and will tell you, it's not going to bring any of us closer to killing it. I've seen hundreds of 'em in the human world – I don't think I've ever really killed one, tho', an' I think neither will you.'

He nodded, and once more did not say thanks.

* * *

I'm seriously starting to not like this guy.

Up Next - Stark is unduly amused, Ulquiorra is predictably less so, and Findor plays HS&E officer.


	53. Best Judgement

Good evening - and here we go :) It must be Monday somewhere :)

Drop us a note, we love it ;)

Chapter 53 - Where Findor dispenses very good elf'n'safety advice (that's Health, Safety and Environment for non-Brits), Ulquiorra has some bright realisations, and Stark pretends he is in a good mood.

* * *

'Master Schiffer, you're looking at me so intently that I have the feeling you're minded to invite me into Hueco Mundo for a bit of a friendly spar,' Stark said, with unexpected good humour, and despite the fact that Ulquiorra was not looking at him; it was not that he felt amused, either. It was simply that he knew it would irk the Cuarta. 'What about you, Ukitake?' he added, turning towards his other companion – this time, his voice had carried no trace of amusement. 'Care for a breath of Hueco Mundo fresh air?'

Without waiting for a response from either, he shot a Cero, pulverizing a lonely, shrieking and hopping Hollow before it had even come close to the edge of the Garganta they'd been standing on; neither of his companions would have answered anyway, and the target practice was a bit of fun, spurring on his next brilliant suggestion.

'How about an archery, Kido and respectively lance throwing contest?' the Primera further prodded. 'First to a hundred Hollow at three hundred paces wins tea with Aizen-sama?'

'You are disrespectful,' Ulquiorra finally yielded.

'How about closing the Garganta and going home, then?' Stark snarled.

'That is not what Aizen-sama ordered,' Ulquiorra dryly and predictably answered, making the Primera's shoulders slump.

'I give up on you,' Stark sighed. Not caring for the Cuarta's frozen glare, he drifted away from the edge of the spectral gateway, to sit on the roof of the nearest shabby cottage. 'A round of _tutti1_, Findor?' he asked, peering at his second in command through the badly patched roof, and thinking that the Fraccion had probably grown roots in the three hours he'd been hiding, _in position, _ on the derelict porch of the hut.

The entirety of the 13th, as well as some forty of Ulquiorra's own underlings were similarly hidden throughout the small deserted area of Rukongai's 78th district; they'd made very quick work of the few demonic manifestations and tens of minor Hollow that had caused the initial alert, but the Garganta the invaders had come through had remained unexplainably open once the inflow had slowed to a trickle, then completely stopped.

'I did not think bringing playing cards to the combat field would be exacta, Stark-sama,' Findor whispered, in a very serious tone.

'That was sarcasm, my good man,' Stark chuckled. The Fraccion looked chastised. 'It's alright, you'll catch it next time,' the Primera winked. 'Since it looks like we will be here, meditating on the meaning of life until _something_ fitting the Cuarta's deployment of forces comes through that portal, I have a feeling I'll give you plenty of opportunities to practice.'

'I agree,' Ukitake shyly intervened. 'It would perhaps be wiser to either investigate further or seal the gateway now that the attack seems to have ceased; it is fortunate that bigger entities have not come through already…'

'Desist with the meaningless banter,' Ulquiorra dryly said. 'This is an Omniskido-led operation, and you are under my direct authority.'

'I said nothing to the contrary,' Stark shrugged, but stretched, making his shoulders crack loudly – and probably making himself the target of burning envy from the a hundred and fifty Shinigami and Arrancar who were freezing behind fences and bushes throughout the quarter. He then yawned, and lay back with his hands crossed under his head. 'Ukitake,' he coldly ordered. 'wake me up if something comes out of that Garganta and bites master Schiffer's head off. I'll wake up and cheer on my own if something comes and bites _your_ head off.'

The Shinigami swallowed the public humiliation, and looked down.

'And that, master Carias,' Stark said through gritted teeth, but only speaking loud enough for Findor to hear him, 'was _not_ sarcasm.'

The Cuarta stared at him lengthily, but did not argue further.

'Your behavior is noted,' he simply said, turning away; before he fully faced into the Garganta, however, his glance passed over Ukitake and stopped to measure him for a few seconds – there was nothing to be read in the Cuarta's expression, yet the Shinigami had the odd impression that Ulquiorra was either reading his thoughts or gazing _inside_ his chest. Ukitake knew he must have been looking half dead, for winter was fast approaching, and the air was freezing and humid at the same time. 'You may sit, if you wish, Ukitake Jushiro,' Ulquiorra unexpectedly said.

'When _I_ say so,' Stark had growled in response. The Cuarta had blinked and turned away, and, for a few minutes, all was quiet. In a corner of his mind, Ukitake was half expecting he would actually hear Stark snore soon; it was not the case, for the Primera was, in fact, neither sleepy, nor bored.

He was worried and annoyed.

It was clear to both the Primera and the Cuarta that the Garganta could not have remained open on its own for such a long time; a powerful entity, either Hollow or of the _other_ type, was keeping it open. Ukitake must have guessed the same as well.

Logic, Stark's thoughts had then followed, might have indicated that if the thing which was sustaining the Garganta had been Hollow, it would have come through by now – unless, of course, there was a new Vasto Lorde on the other side with a particularly cunning hunting method. Yet, that was doubtful: bits of _it_ had come through as well, not many, and not powerful enough to have resisted a hypothetical Vasto Lorde.

No, the Primera thought, another Vasto Lorde would have been too much good luck.

The more likely possibility was that some form of hell manifestation had lodged itself on the other side of the spiritual gateway, and was probably having the most copious meal of its new existence, as more and more Hollow were drawn to opening. And that _it_ was growing_._

He bitterly recalled that when the first of the demon gates had opened on Earth, the entity had been had not been quite sure of what to do with itself, or how to employ the normal gateways – he also remembered it learned very fast, however; some action against it had been taken in the human world, but he had the dreary feeling that if _it_ had actually learnt to cross into Hueco Mundo, as it seemed to have done, the human world was merely a distraction.

The only good fortune was that Aizen's own actions had emptied the desert of its more powerful denizens, but in the long term, that did not matter either: whether hell directly consumed human souls in the human world, or simply waited for the deluge of those who'd died darkly, _it_ was growing.

While Ulquiorra, being the _fair_ guy that he was, was patiently waiting for _it_ to become bold enough to actually send a significant manifestation through the Garganta they were all sheepishly staring at.

_Who knows?_ Stark thought to himself, once more yawning. _Maybe he actually finds this entertaining._

Or, the Primera considered, suddenly grinning cruelly to himself, Ulquiorra was hoping to save face, since he'd mobilized an entire division to fight twenty demons and fifty minor Hollow, while according to rumor and New Central meeting minutes, the 3rd and the diminished 8th were holding back hundreds in the human world. Still, there had been a random confused Adjucha amid the Hollow here, he reminded himself, feeling the pleasant, all but forgotten taste of raw energy along the fangs of his mask.

The show of force the Cuarta had produced was nonetheless as impressive as it was moot.

'Heaven,' he said, to no one in particular. 'It is so…_heavenly_.' He felt sadness stirring in Ukitake's reiatsu, and felt inwardly pleased at the barb.

The rows and rows of empty houses which surrounded them were as far from anyone's idea of Heaven as only Hueco Mundo could be, merely a vast sea of randomly constructed wooden shacks, so frail and bare that some had actually crumbled when the various Shinigami and Arrancar had taken their designated positions on porches and roofs. They were built in such a hap-hazard manner, that there was not even an identifiable lane in between them, with piles of rotten garbage strewn from place to place in the knee deep mud. Stark couldn't even recall if he'd seen a well anywhere close – there was only a murky river, which was now additionally littered with the carcasses of a few Hollow too large for its waters to carry off.

'This area has been evacuated,' Ulquiorra suddenly said; the Primera was so surprised that he actually sat up. 'And not by Sereitei,' the Cuarta added.

Stark frowned and looked around, suddenly finding that Ulquiorra's observation was very correct, and berating himself for not taking notice of it himself – the entire area was empty; not only no plusses, but not a chicken or a pig in sight. If these people had fled in panic at the invasion, something might have been left behind, yet…

'For a moment I had actually thought you'd had the foresight to take whatever plusses lived here out of the way of our grand operation, master Schiffer,' Stark answered, in half irony; Ulquiorra looked over his shoulder, and actually lifted the right corner of his lips into what resembled a smirk.

'That is not the remit of the Omnitskido, and Aizen-sama did not order it,' the Curata dryly answered. He made a brief hand gesture, making one of his subordinates leave cover and approach him, then set knee to the ground. 'Check if this is true for other sections,' he ordered; the man vanished.

'People have been known to flee the path of Hollow invasions,' Ukitake said.

'In my direct recollection of Hollow invasions, Ukitake Jushiro,' Ulquiorra evenly responded, making the Shinigami grow even paler, 'when _we_ open the path of a colony to the human world or Rukongai, we don't actually leave the prey time to load up their livestock.'

Stark actually chuckled.

'The benefits of having a diverse team eh, Ukitake?' he said, enjoying the mixture of surprise, sorrow and anger in the Shinigami's eyes. 'You always learn something new.'

He actually hoisted himself up to get a better look, and sent out a weak pequisa wave; Ulquiorra sensed it and spun about, probably wondering why the other had done him the unexpected favour.

'You're right,' Stark said. 'The plus concentration starts almost mile from here, towards Sereitei and near the border of the 77th.'

'Sense further, east and west, along this circumference.' Ulquiorra said.

'I don't know if it's in the remit of the 13th or if Aizen-sama ordered it,' Stark returned, feeling displeased by the direct order. 'Fine, fine, let it not be said I am uncooperative,' he mumbled. 'Findor, pesquisa incoming warning,' he added, finding a way of stealing Ulquiorra's victory – the Fraccion materialized on the roof that Stark had barely left, and dutifully bellowed:

'Attention, 13th Division! The Monsignor Primera Espada Stark-sama will send a pesquisa wave! Please stand away from all unsafe buildings, loose building materials, large tree branches, companions with large horns, or anything else you believe might become dislodged and fall on your head! Do not employ Sonido or Shumpo! Employ best judgment! Disregard this announcement if you have a naturally thick skull! Good luck to all!'

For a sweet, precious moment, Stark thought Ulquiorra might actually gawk, and Ukitake might actually faint.

'Well done, Findor,' Stark said. 'Barragan may have found him, but I trained him,' he added, giving the Cuarta an unsolicited, and by the look in Ulquiorra's eyes, horrifyingly offensive wink – then pushed out his reiatsu without further warning.

The wave caused even Ulquiorra and Ukitake to cover their eyes, and swept over the entire area with the force of a silent explosion; a few shabby buildings were indeed leveled, and a pained yelp some hundred feet away announced that someone had not been wise enough or fast enough to heed Findor's warning – its front, so concentrated that it was visible quickly vanished into the horizon, only to return at equal speed, and such force that Ukitake actually felt his eardrums were about to burst.

'No, nothing,' Stark said, with a shrug. Twenty yards away, another wooden shed surrendered to the sway the wave had caused in the half-rotten planks of its walls, and loudly collapsed. 'This outer district is empty for five miles both east and west of us. And no, I did not sense anything moving inside the Garganta either. Just in case you were curious.'

The Cuarta was not. He simply stared intently ahead, then turned his head left and right with all but mechanical motions. 'A complete evacuation of the 78th 's outer ring,' he noted.

Without warning, he spun around and waved his hand, causing the Garganta to blink closed – drawing a barely disguised general sigh of relief from the troop behind him, and thoroughly surprising Stark.

'Are we giving up on heroic deeds for the evening, Cuarta?' he asked, arching an eyebrow.

'Some of us do not know what the words mean,' Ulquiorra stung in return. 'I see no wisdom in continuing here, and I will not move into Hueco Mundo without orders; that is outside my responsibilities anyway. Aizen-sama may see fit to send _you_, once he has been informed, but that remains to be seen.'

'Besides,' Ulquiorra followed, taking a step forward and coming to stand by Stark's side without looking up at him, 'the fact that this area has indeed been emptied must be brought to New Central's attention at once.'

'I hate to quote him,' Stark said, indicating Ukitake with a nod, 'but people do flee natural disasters.'

'That is true,' the Cuarta nodded. 'Yet this was far from a natural disaster, and but for the demonic presence, it was not unusual on the scale of past incidents reported by the 3rd; the people have not done this in the past.'

He thoughtfully looked over the deserted sea of rotting huts.

'The first combined demonic and Hollow Garganta appeared but a month ago, and no such movements of populace were noted – now, they are moving, and in a very organized manner.' He followed. 'Two questions then arise, Stark.'

'Who has the power of organization to move hundreds of people being the first,' Stark agreed. 'I think our friends in _la resistence _may be the answer to that one.'

Ulquiorra nodded again. 'They did not realize that the invading entities were special on the first opening, and they did not realize it in its immediate aftermath, but they somehow learnt that these invaders are not purely Hollow between then and now. Even we did not know demons would manifest again, so…The second question, then, becomes - who warned _them_?'

_Good question_, Stark acknowledged.

'Well, it would appear Sereitei's impenetrable walls are starting to seriously leak under pressure_.'_ The Primera said. 'And that you, master Schiffer, have a problem.'

'_We_ have a problem,' Ulquiorra evenly answered, meeting's Stark's glance for a single moment before vanishing to Sonido, swiftly taking all of the Primera's amusement with him.

Stark nodded to Findor to signal retreat, but in his turn made no haste for the walls. Annoyingly, neither did Ukitake, yet, to his credit, the Shinigami stood well away from Stark until all the others had gone, and the Primera had gotten so lost in his own thoughts that he'd all but forgotten his presence.

'We should have gone into Hueco Mundo, and at least ascertain the nature of the Garganta's cause…' Ukitake softly began, at length; Stark threw him an icy, frozen glance, cutting him off.

'I don't know if that will happen, Ukitake,' he responded. 'Maybe Aizen remembers that the last leader of Sereitei who sent forces into Hueco Mundo did not end that well – some decrepit old man by the name of Yamamoto, remember him?'

'If you did not wish for any advice on the matter,' Ukitake replied, with distinctly unwise anger in his voice, 'why did you bring me out to see this?'

'I was hoping a late autumn's evening walk would do you well,' Stark grinned – the other was visibly taken aback. 'Leave me before I get truly rude.' The Primera said, narrowing his eyes. 'And don't make any unscheduled stops; you've heard master Schiffer. It would appear we have a leak.'

'Would you truly have wanted all of these souls present if hell had fully manifested, as it has done in the human world?' the Shinigami insisted.

'No,' Stark simply responded, shoving his hands in his pockets, and managing a wide smile. 'But it does not matter; I do not want it manifesting in Hueco Mundo either. You see, the irony that deeply amuses me is that the resistance's efforts here are as futile as Schiffer's leak is irrelevant. If the attacks on the human world will continue, the mass of newly arrived souls will be forced to return to this region and within hell's reach for the same reason why they initially came.'

Stark smiled, though Lilinette, and the misery she'd grown up in rose in his thoughts, making absent heart ache.

'Souls came here because they had nowhere else to go - or do you imagine anyone lived here by choice?' he asked; Ukitake lowered his glance and shadow-stepped away.

The Primera did not enjoy the victory, for there was nothing to enjoy; he simply lowered himself onto the roof, and sat, resting his elbow on his bent knee. Ukitake was right, and he knew it – they should have killed whatever had opened the Garganta, or closed the passageway before it fed and gained additional strength, yet, judging by Ulquiorra's behavior, Aizen had had other intentions, and unlike the first time around, Stark found himself at a true loss as to what they might have been.

_He can't make himself God all over again, can he? He's already done that…_

_We are alone,_ he thought. _No, _Stark corrected, closing his eyes, _I am alone._

That night, the dream visited him for the first time; in this, he'd not be alone. He'd be just the first of many.

* * *

1Tutti - Tute, a Spanish card game in which the pourpose is getting all four kings. It would have been called tutti, by its Italian name during Stark's life.

* * *

Up next - would you believe it, an Ulquiorra chapter. Yes, you read that right, master Schiffer gets a voice and a past.


	54. Time

Thanks for watching :)

Chapter 54 - where Ulqui is not what you expect him to be, and I feel really sorry for him.

* * *

_Time._

_Sands._

_Both endless mirrors and measures of each other – for time turns even mountains into sand._

Ulquiorra Schiffer did not dream; he'd rid himself of the unpleasant capacity for it half a century into his Hollow life, at the time when he'd learned to fold his wide, dark wings and descend from Hueco Mundo's skies. His Vasto Lorde awareness had come to him slowly, one grain of sand for each kill – but though the return of his memories had not been an assault, their disjointed nature and the fact that, initially, they'd refused to form a continuum had sometimes left him prey to unexplainable and dangerous states of anxiety. Since in those days life itself had seemed to be apportioned in well defined cycles of feeding and hibernation, in which one did not necessarily preserve the memory of the previous cycle, he'd thought of his memories as dreams, and fought them with all his might.

For a century and a half, as time had coursed, and grains of sand had slowly filled out and completed his inner and outer shape, he'd won, and banished dreams. The flow of history had then carried him here; Aizen-sama had turned ever shifting sands into solid pavement, and Ulquiorra had gratefully followed at each step, sensing that the pieces of his existence's puzzle were finally falling into place, and finding himself free of the anxiety of having to personally extract meaning or depth out of a world that blatantly had none.

Dream and memory were, in themselves meaningless, even more so now, under Sereitei's starry sky. Power had been gathered, and he was holding it. A war had been fought, and he had won it. A hierarchy had formed, and he'd been assigned meaning. There was no need for dreams.

Despite all this, Ulquiorra Schiffer now dreamt.

_They keep the Sabbath every week. Just before sunset, a woman whom he recognises as his mother lights four candles – one for in the day's honour, one for the house's peace, one for his sister. One for him._

_The others hate them for it, and their hatred is meaningless. His mother lights the candles each week, waves her hands over them, then covers her eyes and whispers a blessing. The language she speaks is long lost to him, but he knows she's whispering a blessing nonetheless._

_The hatred of the others grows, or perhaps he grows far more aware of it as he ventures further and further into their world on his own. He learns signs and arithmetic; these make sense. He learns the Laws, and these he needs to remember, even if he does not really understand their significance. His people think him wise; his father is proud and encourages him to keep company with the learned._

_Every day on the way to the temple he passes a girl who tries to hide her fire red-hair under a white scarf. He should not look her way, but he does, noting that she'd looked his way as well. The first time their glances meet, she blushes, and he feels unsettled. The second time, she gives him a smile, then runs away as fast as her feet carry her. He thinks he loves her. He speaks to her once, then returns home to find his mother in tears and his father enraged. On the next day, the girl's white scarf fully hides her hair, and she looks as if she'd been crying. He does not understand, seeks meaning, and finds only pain. He never speaks to her again, and returns to keeping the Sabbath. _

This, Ulquiorra remembers without fail, even though sleep only allows him partial oversight, he knows what should come next.

_Black death, and bodies in their thousands. Now, mother not only lights the candles, but draws the curtains too; for some reason, the others think that it is them bringing the darkness. Holy men wearing white robes and golden crosses proclaim the disease out of God's law. The disease can't care less, and claims thousands more; he learns that the girl with the red hair is among them. The others come and break their windows with rocks, so they peg planks across the windows. Instead of gathering their bodies, the others try to break down their door – for once, come sunset, mother is afraid to light the candles. She helps father nail the door shut instead. She doesn't cry. His sister, however, does. _

_For weeks, father only ventures outside after dark to fetch scraps of food, and water from the well. It is only as all four of them lie in deaths' agony that they realize the others had poisoned their water. During those final minutes he tries to understand, but he cannot. Death, as life, has no meaning._

Something is amiss, though, and the dream goes awry; he is still there, still going through the motions of his life, but this time all the figures come and go without touching him. This time, he knows that all of them, his mother, his sister and his father, the girl with the red hair and the others are just specks of dust who happened to be arranged in a particular shape. In the dream, he understands this, and never seeks either understanding or meaning. Days come and go, shaped and reshaped by random gusts of wind – splintered seconds run, one after the other, sequenced by no more than chance.

The final minutes of his mortal life pass in this way too, and, sensing himself meaningless, Ulquiorra seeks no understanding and feels no pain before the sand he's made of scatters to the wind.

_Meaning is an invention of the weak,_ a voice whispers.

Ulquiorra Schiffer woke up and stood, intently listening to the silence. He heard nothing but the rustle of leaves outside. With deliberate slowness, he looked about himself – to the walls of his chambers, which he'd chosen to keep bare, and to the fleeting shadows of the world outside his window. He unwillingly frowned, then lowered his glance to his hands; for the first time in two centuries, he'd found his fingers shaking slightly, and his frown deepened.

_Aizen-sama is meaning,_ the Cuarta thought to himself; the notion alone should have made his hands stop trembling, but it did not – unspeakable panic, such as he'd never thought he'd feel again gripped him with iron claws.

_He realizes that he is not truly awake a moment too late; the speed at which the walls of his chamber and the shadows disintegrate into nothingness makes him feel nauseated. He tastes Hollow flesh, and remembers what he'd long sought to erase from his mind – the fact that even though he'd been unaware of himself, and though his body had not felt like his own, he'd taken months before he'd managed to keep his feedings in. This sensation is similar, but far worse; he retches and falls to his knees, but the malevolent energy has already dissipated into his flesh, and though his body entirely rejects it with every fiber, his muscles' efforts are vain. Ulquiorra remembers this too._

_He is reliving the first time that he'd consumed a Vasto Lorde, and become one himself. The hunger which has consumed him from within for months that seemed without beginning and without end, recedes, leaving him to wonder what its purpose had been, in the first place. He does not understand why the others begin to gather around him. He sometimes feasts on them, they feast on each other, but when he moves, they continue to follow. Some of them grow, but few are like him; he guesses he should find their presence reassuring, but he does not, for the constant noise of their energy makes him feel blind - in his hibernation, he senses larger predators circling in the distance._

_When his first colony gets too large, he leaves it behind, knowing that he can easily return to it if the lands ahead prove poorer. The distant eastward horizon beckons, and he advances on it, as if hoping that some sense or some purpose lie beyond the distant dunes. One after the other, more colonies stretch behind him, learning to expand on their own; he rarely retraces his steps. Time regains meaning, but while its flow is still deprived of causality, Ulquiorra comes to see how far he has risen, though he himself fails to understand why he has._

_One after the other, lesser colonies and lesser Vasto Lorde fall to him. He does not even have to fight most of them – his simple presence is enough. He pauses for a decade on the borders of a hunting domain larger than anything he has ever encountered. He thinks it wise; the presence at its center seems too powerful to be contended with, and several entities that rival him surround it from all sides. Employing caution, Ulquiorra continues his journey due north, keeping respectful distance of the other's border; the northern horizon is as deprived of sense and purpose as the eastern one._

_All changes within a year._

_A reiatsu storm unlike anything that he has ever encountered or felt rages across the sands. Like a pack of wolves, the smaller entities set upon the massive one, devouring it whole. The battle rages for months, and makes him halt his own advance – logic dictates that now, he can individually overtake the younger upstart kingdoms. Logic fails him. Only one kingdom emerges from the cover of the turmoil of energy, and Ulquiorra does not even have the time to grasp that the pack of wolves has turned on each other._

_His shredded wings barely save his life upon his first encounter with Stark. White light scalds him from behind as he flees from the coyote's fangs and claws. Both come upon him without warning, and even when the light fades, the charged blue stare shining from behind the enemy's mask follows, burning itself into Ulquiorra's brain._

_With injured wings, he hovers and looks down towards the new enemy; Stark's dark cape gathers about his shoulders, and burning light stretches at his feet. Within the confines of the menos shroud, the coyote's contours shift. It rises from all fours, stands upright and gazes up. Ulquiorra knows that this has been a test he has failed. He rediscovers fear. Over the next century, he knows he should rediscover hate._

He does not, and the dream goes awry. A gust of wind erases all, shredding his hatred, his fear, and Stark's contours into fine dust, leaving the Cuarta to stand alone over the white sands. The foreign energy he felt before, which continues to writhe within his form, remains the only constant.

_We can erase the meanings he gave himself,_ the voice says. _We can erase the false meaning you gave him._

Ulquiorra doesn't understand, but feels at peace.

'Aizen-sama already did,' he answers.

The world shatters once more.

_Order arises from the sand, and now, he understands. The Creator's arrival justifies all, and finally restores causality to the passage of time; it was this that he'd been waiting for, without even knowing it. His hollow hunger had created him, to lead him here. The lone coyote and his shimmering shadow had served in teaching him caution and steadiness in hatred. The disembodied skeleton had taught him that arrogant numbers can be defeated, if their ambition is hollow. The shark had warned him that patient things could be more dangerous than savagely aggressive ones._

_With Aizen's appearance, all finally makes sense, and though life and death are still meaningless, Ulquiorra himself is not. He finds his place and settles within it – vast battles and figures gain contour, and no longer drift across his consciousness like grains of sand. They remain solid within the contours Aizen-sama draws – sketching them with his will alone, at first, but then, carving them firm with the Hougyoku._

_Answers are offered before questions are asked; those who do not accept their places are destroyed or forced into them, and the Creator forces purpose beyond all horizons. He rewards Ulquiorra's faith with leverage over his enemies; within Aizen's trust, he feels complete._

_Did you?_ the voice laughed. _Did you truly? Was causality the release you craved for? And do you think you have found it?_

This time around, it didn't give Ulquiorra time to answer.

_The memory of Inoue Orihime rages through his heart like a hurricane. But for her part in Aizen-sama's plan she too is meaningless – why then is she the only one who preserves her colours in a world which has long been tinted only in the whiteness of the sand and the darkness of the sky? He slips a bracelet on her wrist, and her skin feels warm. Her fingers feel scalding across his cheek. _

_She doesn't hide her red hair under a white scarf. She cries when she means to. She hopes against hope; he doesn't understand why. This hurts, and Aizen-sama cannot answer, because he does not ask. Ulquiorra thinks he hates her. He is unsure._

_He is unsure why he keeps Nnoitra from her door. He is unsure why, upon finding her room empty, his vision is obscured by bloodied white silk – not only the image of her tear filled eyes and the feel of her fingers across his cheek, but Grimmjow's chaos infect him, and once more plunge him into a world of actions without meaning._

_It takes so very little to return him to his senseless primordial state._

The voice knows it.

'No,' Ulquiorra Schiffer growled, willing himself out of the vision, and swimming towards the conscious surface of his mind, with no more bearings than he'd had finding his way out of the Sexta's Caja Negacion. 'No,' he repeated, forcing his reiatsu over the other energy. He flushed it out in full, eliminating the painful tug of its foreign hooks – he breathed in deeply, and stared down at his hands, finding them as unwavering as ever.

Yet, while Ulquiorra could sense his reiatsu was in order, and that he'd overcome the sudden assault as he'd overcome all the others he'd consumed over his centuries, the other consciousness lingered. The Cuarta frowned; normally, it was the consciousness that faded first, leaving the body to overcome the energy. He would still not give the invader the honour of conceding defeat, and addressing it within his mind.

'What are you?' Ulquiorra asked out loud.

The voice paused – its silence caused a painful void to stretch in the Cuarta's skull, the sensation so painfully acute that he almost doubled over in pain, pressing his fingers to his temples.

_We are without meaning, _it responded, at length. _We are without cause. _

Ulquiorra gritted his teeth.

_We are peace and we are chaos. We are within you and without you. We are that which you seek, what you have always sought. Set us free,_ it howled.

Yet more uninvited visions, future, not past, more whispered words drifted through the Cuarta's mind, and though he didn't let himself acknowledge them, his inner eyes registered all, not in fear, but in bewilderment. Despite himself, he heard whispered words, and saw Sokyoku Hill crumbling – on the edges of his vision, Sereitei dissipated to the winds, no more than another picture drawn in meaningless grains of sand. Aizen himself, swept in the storm, was no more than a twisted whirlwind of contour less, disjointed colours.

_Chaos is universal. All order is random. There is no meaning, and only the weak, those who cannot face the truth, seek to invent it._

Ulquiorra closed his inner eye as well.

'Laughable,' he said, simply. The entity's consciousness writhed painfully within his, as his thoughts overcame it. He lay back down, and immediately fell into a dreamless sleep, not taking note of the fact that waves of darkness drifted across his sword's blade.

* * *

Nestled within the Cuarta's mind and energy, as it was nestled in the minds and energies of all who had touched it, _it_ waited; to _it,_ not even sands and time had meaning.

* * *

Up next- one of our OC's gets in trouble, Stark is a bad boy yet again (as if he were anything but).


	55. Fiery Nights

Hello, hello - we are keeping up with the posting schedule, thanking you for your niceties, and we are glad you enjoyed Ulquiorra. Oddly enough, so did we, and it was a rare occasion.

We shall be lyrical again soon, but a bit of action doesn't hurt, from time to time, thus

Chapter 55 - Where Uki's sister gets in trouble, Ukitake gets angry, and - oh my, do I spot a nice Stark?

(I must be dreaming...)

* * *

Ukitake Kazumi crept from room to room, carefully shutting doors behind her, with nothing but her own heartbeat and the creaking of the floorboards flooding her ears. The steps of the creature she could neither see nor feel remained behind her, unhurried and heavy.

It was so quiet that she had the illusion that the sound of her breath was as loud as a brewing hurricane; there was no wind, and no rustling of leaves outside, just thick darkness pouring in through the windows, and moonlight so shy that it cut no shadows. From time to time, there was the grating of claws against walls, coming from the inside or the outside…she could not tell.

It hadn't been like this, the first time around, Kazumi remembered, stopping to look about herself in the vain hope of discovering some route of escape. The first time around, they'd been upon her before she had even fully awoken, twisted creatures with bone white masks, reminding her of theatre performers, standing no more than a foot away, with their weapons drawn and their teeth, which reminded her of anything else but the theatre, bared. The first time around she had not had the time to feel trapped, or even frightened.

But then, Kazumi thought, she'd merely been arrested. Now, she was being hunted.

The noises had begun a few minutes before – subtle raps against the windowsill, and footsteps smothered in grass, so faint that her imagination had claimed them, soothingly whispering that birds sometimes sat on the windowsill and the wind had a tendency for drifting through the grass. She hadn't counted how many times she had dismissed it all, attempted to straighten the covers and lay back down, only to breathlessly sit up again, with her heart in her throat and her breath frozen in her chest.

The grating had come next – sometimes, in playful, rushed tones, as if a child who had not been found while playing hide and seek had been attempting to give hints to her whereabouts, but sometimes growing decisive and steady, as if an animal had picked a certain spot along the wall and had been trying to burrow itself in it. She'd heard both sounds coming from the garden side of the house, only to hear them from the street side in the very next second, at first in alternating, short occurrences, but then growing bold and fluent, ribbons of sound wrapping themselves continuously around the walls and windows.

She'd held her knees to her chest, and waited, not knowing what she was waiting for.

The front door had screeched with deceiving slowness, only to be violently jerked off its rails in the very next second – it was only then that Kazumi had slipped out of bed too, barefoot and with her hair unbraided.

She'd taken the chance of crossing the sitting room while the one who hunted her still lingered in the small hallway. She'd even fancied she'd caught a glimpse of its figure, in the murky moonlight, and frozen in terror and indecision for a second that seemed to span lifetimes.

The kitchen led to the garden, but she'd guessed that they already knew that as well; the second bedroom of her small house had large enough windows, but if more hunters awaited her outside, that too would be an ill advised choice. All other rooms were no more than ill disguised dead ends – the pantry, the tea room, the small closet adjoining it…

Beyond the shoji panel which separated the sitting room from the hallway, the shadow had moved, and she'd thought no further. The grating outside had neither stopped nor receded, coming from all directions, as if her unknown assailants had had the ability of seeing her through the walls, and mocked her hesitations.

Kazumi had fled from the sitting room into another small hallway, silently sliding the door in place behind her, then dashing through the second bedroom, noisily pushing the windows open, and quietly dashing back, to close that door as well.

She followed the hallway through to the tea room, leaving its door open and untouched, and once more stood alone, hesitating, and listening to the heavy footsteps behind her.

The young woman managed to insinuate herself in the small closet adjoining the tea room, and pulled the door all but shut, leaving a single, two inch gap between the panel and the door. Behind her, the creature's steps had stopped as well; it was only the grating that continued to mock.

Kazumi shirked away from the single line of light that the opening left, and crammed herself underneath the bottom shelf of the closet, not noticing that she had stepped on the remains of a broken teapot. There, with her face pressed to her knees and her trembling hands clutched together about them, she waited and listened to the approaching steps.

* * *

For the first time in months, Ukitake Jushiro discovered that he did not care.

Not for the restrictions placed on his movement, and not for the consequences that flaunting the rules would bring – not even for the fact that his rush caused each breath to claw at the inside of his chest.

The concentration of malevolent reiatsu had been such that it had jerked him out of uneasy sleep; he'd recognized Ggio Vega's energies flaring even before he'd been fully awake, lightning in the storm of many other Arrancars' reiatsu.

He should have seen it coming.

It had all been too peaceful. Too quiet, for far too long.

He should have seen _this_ coming. He'd allowed himself to forget about these, the man pointlessly berated himself – amid the reconstruction efforts, and the mixing of the populations, Findor, Lilinette, Grimmjow Jagguerjaques and Hayoto, he'd almost forgotten that these existed as well, drifting on the edges of a world that was not shaping to their liking, still hungry for the revenge that Stark had denied them and still dwelling on the memory of what they perceived as greatness past. With the weeks that had come and gone, and with the uneasy, but still undeniable truce that had been tacitly forced by the arrival of the new enemy, Vega's influence over the Arrancar contingent had begun looking remote and inconsequential. Though he'd expected that the tiger would find a path of resistance, Ukitake had suspected that it would take the form of hasty a riot or random attack on a Shinigami household, and, in doing so, he'd underestimated both Vega's intelligence and his patience.

Heart in his throat, and taste of blood in his mouth, Ukitake stopped.

There were fourteen or fifteen presences, no more, half standing in the street and some scattered in the distance, but the fact that the relatively even spread of the Hollow across the division had prevented Ggio Vega from organizing more of his troop was little consolation. This particular section of the grounds had not yet been repopulated, due to the Shinigami's reluctance of moving back into a quarter from which their companions had been forcibly removed – neither Stark nor Ukitake had pushed more than they had to, for fear the additional pressure would cause tempers to flare.

The streets and the neighboring houses were, therefore, empty, and the balancing effect that Ukitake had hoped for and even managed to achieve in other sections was not present; there was no natural deterrent to Ggio's actions, and none would arrive. Knowledge of the fact that Ukitake Kazumi was being kept there, in relative seclusion, was not common, and since she had no reiatsu, none, not even her brother, would have sensed her on their own.

She was defenseless, and the set-up of Vega's attack was perfect in its simplicity; Kazumi was a high profile target, but an easy one to reach. Harm to her would have undone the frail sense of balance that Ukitake and Findor had managed to achieve, undermined the Shinigami's reluctant cooperation as well as Stark's authority. With her, unlike with any other target, Ggio Vega would reaffirm himself to his troop, and perhaps to his former commander…Ukitake gritted his teeth.

He should have seen _this_ coming.

Ggio Vega looked over his shoulder and grinned wide.

'Good of you to join us,' one of the other Arrancar said, in his stead.

'…gonna be one hell of a night,' another growled; the sound crawled eerily over the empty streets and empty, lifeless walls.

Ukitake held his breath, then attempted to control it as his fingers curled about Sogyo no Kotowari's hilt; the zanpakutoh's reiatsu tingled between his fingertips, ascending towards his elbow. He simply drew one deep breath after another, trying to keep them even.

He could still not sense her.

As if he could read the Shinigami's mind, Vega turned his feline profile towards the sky and sniffed at the air in implied threat.

'…been entirely too long,' he said, towards no one in particular, and although the night was overcast, his long fangs glowed in the darkness, almost as if they'd been fluorescent.

'You will die here,' Ukitake said, dryly. He did not even consider telling them to back away – something in their stances told him that they would not, and the Shinigami himself found that he was enraged enough not to want them to. He felt no fear of either their strength or their numbers.

'I doubt that,' Vega replied, the confidence in his voice not managing to entice more than a few rounds of nervous laughter; even with his swords still in their scabbards, Ukitake's reiatsu dwarfed that of the entire group, and none among them, not even all of them would stand against him for more than a few seconds if he drew. 'You're too much of a coward, Shinigami.'

He snapped his sword from his belt and slung it across his shoulders, taking a step away from the semicircle of his companions and eyeing Ukitake in open amusement.

'Quite the predicament you are in, Ukitake Jushiro,' the Arrancar shrugged. 'If you don't draw on us, we will get your sister; that,' he chuckled, 'is what we came out to get, and that's what we'll get. If you do draw, you will be attacking us, and we'll finally get your precious division…'

Vega stopped, and spit to the side in disgust.

'Been too long,' he hissed, with animal satisfaction at finally standing close to what he'd been so far denied. 'We've been waiting for this for entirely too long.'

A murmur of frustrated approval rose from the group, making Ukitake hold the hilt of his sword even tighter.

'No,' he said. 'You will achieve nothing here…'

'You think so?' Vega interrupted, arching an eyebrow. 'Who will speak up in your defense, if you harm a single one of us? Are you counting on Carias, Findor?' he asked, mimicking Findor's rigid speech pattern, and drawing another, increasingly menacing round of laughter. 'You think you've made _friends?'_

'Screw Findor,' another Arrancar muttered. 'Disloyal, slow bastard…'

'Do you know that he actually didn't tell us exactly where your sister was, Ukitake Jushiro?' Vega picked up once more. 'The stupid bastard figured that if he only makes her guard up by the ones he thinks he can trust, he can hide her from me…Well,' he ominously chuckled, 'like he hid her from you – on Stark's orders, of course…'

'Who knows, Stark may even give us a quiet hand over this,' another Hollow chuckled – the laughter of her companions grew ever bolder; Ggio Vega laughed too, turning his sharp canines towards the dark sky.

'Yeah,' he conceded, suddenly turning his amber eyes on Ukitake. 'He just might. Since we're just going to be doing what he himself wishes he would have done when he laid eyes on your…'

The sheer power wave unleashed by Ukitake's draw swept half of the Arrancar away without recourse, projecting their bodies along streets and through walls. Vega himself staggered, and barely dodged the right handed slash; he adroitly parried the left handed sword, however, casting his own sword's scabbard away in the blink of an eye. He caught the Shinigami's wrist securely, averting the next blow, and forcing Ukitake to hastily kneel under his swift high kick.

It was not enough.

Ggio Vega's dexterity and swiftness fell short but a second later, when Sogyo no Kotowari's hooked hilt guard securely latched on to his short blade, jerking his entire body upwards as the Shinigami rose back to his feet. With a mere twist of the zanpakutoh's left handed hilt, the Arrancar's sword flew aside, hissing through the air, only to become lodged in a nearby wall. Vega disappeared to Sonido in the blink of an eye, but he was not fast enough to recuperate his weapon – sensing that keeping his back turned to the Shinigami might have been a fatal mistake, the Arrancar abandoned his initial plan and came at his opponent in an impressive explosion of reiatsu and physical blows, which left Ukitake with no time to wonder why Vega's companions had not stood and joined the fray.

The tiger was fast, more so with his kicks and punches than he might have been with his sword, and even though his reiatsu was hopelessly lacking and his blows failed to connect, his mere drive put Ukitake on uneasy defensive for a few seconds. Blow after blow was parried, but Vega seemed to be everywhere and nowhere, striking and retreating in the same heartbeat, no more than a flurry of movement and cutting reflexes of light upon bone. White light exploded and blood was splattered when Vega's shin connected with Ukitake's left handed blade, yet the lightning sent forth by the right handed sword melted against the sky.

The Shinigami turned, anticipating that Vega would come up behind him, and did not content himself on a mere parry – he withdrew just enough to allow the Arrancar's arm to stretch into thin air, then hooked Vega's wrist with Sogyo no Kotowari's hilt guard, pulling it aside. He fancied he'd heard the Arrancar's bones cracking before Vega could free himself, yet his focus on the next blow was hopelessly dithered.

Releasing Sogyo no Kotowari further would have given him the quick edge he wanted; he would not be able to keep up the Arrancar's pace for longer than a few minutes, and, Ukitake thought, angling his sword to deflect yet another high kick, he did not have _minutes._ The flurry of reiatsu would draw attention, Hollow attention, and while he had no doubt that no number of opponents would be too great to face, the fact that he could still not sense Kazumi remained terrifyingly true; fending off the instinct of shouting on top of his voice and telling her to run or hide was almost as difficult as keeping Vega at bay.

Kazumi was _there_, somewhere, in one of the tens of quiet and dark houses, on this street, or perhaps the next; though she could not sense the reiatsu, by now, she would have heard the noise. She would have heard him too, Ukitake was sure, yet attempting to flee would have been unwise. Kazumi could not have outpaced even the most minor Hollow, nor would she have been able to fend them off for even a second. Her best chance at survival now was hiding in the darkness which concealed her whereabouts from him for as long as it took for her brother to finish his fight, and drive the danger away.

Still, her very best chance remained a harsh restriction on Ukitake's movements – but a few streets away, in the midst of the reassuringly strong reiatsu of other Shinigami, he would never have feared releasing Sogyo no Kotowari or employing Kido. Here, he could scarcely afford it. A single misfire, perhaps the reiatsu pressure alone would be enough to crush walls, and crushed walls, in their turn…

Ukitake deflected a Cero against the sky, and sidestepped to catch another along his blade before the scalding light could plow through the dark streets beyond; the Arrancar he'd blown away were standing again, but oddly not advancing, a notion he found as worrisome and draining on his concentration as the fact that although his strikes amounted to nothing, and his Cero failed to do anything more than fizzle, Vega's grin continued to grow.

A slash which cut deeply into the Arrancar's stomach all but made him manically laugh out loud.

Ukitake cringed with unknown fear, but redoubled his speed, sensing that Vega's strength was almost at an end; by now, the blood trails of the Hollow's many wounds made his movements far easier to discern. The broken wrist also assured that Vega could only punch with one arm, and even further restricted his attack angles – it was not hard to guess where the next blow would come from, and it was Ukitake's turn to outmaneuver his slowed and injured opponent.

The Shinigami allowed Vega to re-materialise from Shumpo, only to vanish in his turn in the same blink of an eye. The Arrancar had time to do no more than look over his shoulder as Sogyo no Kotowari's blades crossed over his back, jolting him forward in a mist of blood. Vega turned as he fell, maintaining some grasp on consciousness, but neither that, nor the Cero that he fired in blind even hindered Ukitake from bringing the battle to a close.

Both blades were driven through the Arrancar's ribcage at the same time, pinning him to the ground and causing him to cough up blood; he jolted upwards on the swords, as electricity ran through his body only to fall back along them when the currents stopped, the back of his mask knocking dryly against the pavement.

Victory, however, evaded.

* * *

For a while, Kazumi could hear no more grating. The steps grew closer and heavier for a moment, then headed away. She could hear the door to the second bedroom sliding open, then, a few seconds later, sliding shut; the long floorboards of the hallway creaked, giving way to the creaks of the kitchen floor.

The shadow had simply passed the half open door of the tea room, obscuring the bright limb of moonlight which stretched over the back wall of her hiding place for no more than a fleeting heartbeat. Sounds of frail floors protesting the advance of a too heavy creatures continued for long minutes, before the shadow stole the light for yet another heartbeat, as it headed back towards the sitting room.

For another heartbeat, as it spun around, then, for an eternity as the creature stopped before the door of the tea room, without pulling it open.

There was no more sound then – neither footsteps, nor grating.

The arms which entangled Kazumi sprung forth from the floor and from the walls, white clad forearms squeezing the air out of her chest as claws scratched at her stomach and pulled her hair, but though the steps headed straight for her, and murky moonlight, suddenly turned resplendent, flooded the small closet on the side of the tea room, the young woman clenched her teeth and didn't scream.

They liked it when she screamed.

This, above all, she remembered from the first time around.

Vega laughed through bloodied teeth, the heavy gurgle of blood in his chest lending the sound terrifying echoes.

'His Majesty…' the Arrancar heaved, among chuckles, 'his Majesty will be so proud of me!'

The Shinigami did not bother to make sense of the words; he simply twisted his right handed sword, causing the trickle of blood that coursed between Vega's lips to turn into a river, but failing to drown out the laughter.

'What…do you think you have accomplished _now,_ Ukitake Jushiro?' Vega hissed, madness and pain dancing in his eyes. 'You might as well go ahead and kill me – the damage is already done. Do you not see how many of us there are? Do you think…they…all…are going to stop and fight you?'

The Shinigami gritted his teeth, and unwisely looked up at the ten or twelve white clad figures that stood all around them, once more taking note of the darkly pulsing energies of those he could not see.

'How many…houses do you think there are, here?' Vega followed. 'Forty? Eighty? Maybe close to a hundred? How many of them do you think you can search, when you…cannot _smell_?'

Ukitake straightened, pulling his swords out of the Arrancar's body.

'How many of _them_ do you think you can stop?' the tiger added, his chuckles no more than heavy gurgles of blood.

The first of the white clad figures vanished from view, causing Ukitake to instinctively shadow step in his turn; it was only when the second and third Arrancar disappeared that the full horror of the realization descended upon him, freezing him in place.

_They'd headed in completely different directions._

'Despite Findor's misguided efforts, it didn't take ten of us to find your sister, Ukitake Jushiro,' the injured Arrancar whimpered. 'We already have her; the only thing I was hoping for was that you would indeed draw on us, making your unwinnable situation worse… We have her already, and it won't take ten of us to get her, as I told you…we would.'

Fourteen different presences burned in the distance, some in groups of two or three, some alone. The Shinigami could sense them, but he could not sense _her ;_ no matter how fast he was in giving chase, he stood no chance of finding them all within the next minute, and a minute…A minute he did not have.

Vega continued to heave and laugh, the mixture of the two sounds dripping lead into Ukitake's veins. His heart was racing, but his body felt numb and incapable of movement as seconds out of the minute he did not have ticked by.

Both laughter and pained breath stopped, then rolled together into a blood curling shout – the Shinigami turned, expecting that something had torn Ggio Vega asunder. Ukitake turned, only to catch a glimpse of his defeated opponent's desperate efforts of rising to his knees; blood dripping though his clenched teeth, the tiger gazed in the distance with burning, tempestuous fury.

He felt the others but a split second later than Vega had, but he could not bring himself to either care or hope; he simply tried to follow the Arrancar's gaze, and guess which of the silent houses would be the target of his anger, while knowing that no speed that he could muster would match the speed of light.

Ukitake was by Vega's side in a heartbeat, and had the time to feel the scalding heat of the Cero gathering between the Arrancar's fingers, as if Vega's concentration had been robbing the air of all traces of warmth, and dragging minute icicles through the Shinigami's skin.

The Arrancar held his arm out, and Sogyo no Kotowari's scabbard fell over Vega's arm a single breath too late.

'Cero,' Vega cried.

His broken wrist fell limp.

* * *

The three pulled her out by her hair; oddly enough, it was only when she did her best to ram her heels into the floor that Kazumi noticed that the soles of her feet were bleeding, and had been bleeding for a while. She slipped helplessly, but nonetheless tried to sink her nails into the wrist of the creature who was dragging her, hoping to draw blood but succeeding in no more than turning her own nails painfully out, as if she'd been trying to scratch polished wood.

She struggled hopelessly for each foot, but her desperate effort was not even a hindrance to her three captors. The young woman was briefly lifted over the kitchen's raised threshold, then propped on her feet against the shabby wooden counter, as if she had been a rag doll. Kazumi staggered, and sought balance by leaning backwards; while she looked up, her outstretched fingers raced over the wood, searching for something, anything that might have been used as a weapon. Her transparent intention caused the Arrancar to laugh in unison - one of them, a female one with bright orange hair which resembled a lion's mane, took a step forward and dryly slapped the young woman across the face, just as her hands had finally found brief contact with a kitchen knife's handle. Kazumi fell backwards, hitting her head on the counter. The wooden planks of the floor felt rough and somewhat warm against her cheek; the knife flew to the side as well, landing a few feet away.

It spun for a few seconds, like the panicked, overly hasted limb of a clock. The white, flat heel of an Arrancar's boot stopped it short.

Kazumi turned on her back, and struggled to focus – a sword hissed by her ear, becoming lodged in the floor but an inch away from her neck. She instinctively shifted away, though the strength of the blow she had just received had dragged a shifting veil of fog across her vision. She felt the stab to her shoulder before she saw the light travelling along a second blade; Kazumi cringed, but gritted her teeth and kept silent. Her bravery did not stifle the Arrancar's amusement. One kneeled by her side, not noticing that he had dipped the tips of his long, braided hair in the blood which had begun to spread underneath her shoulders; he took in the young woman's features for a second, then grinned, causing the two halves of the insect-like mandible which covered his lower jaw to snap apart, and reveal a single, exceptionally long and sharp incisive.

He twisted the sword's handle, causing Kazumi to minutely jolt upwards, and his mandibles clicked rapidly together, in sign of amusement; behind him, the female Arrancar shifted impatiently.

'No time for games,' she said, turning around, to glance out the window. 'Just be done with it.'

The insect Hollow hissed, and clicked his mandibles together once more, this time, in clear annoyance; after a second of consideration, he chose to shrug his companion's words off.

'Coward,' he hissed, his voice coming from his stomach rather than his throat; the Arrancar who'd dragged Kazumi by the hair threw his had backwards and laughed. 'Fun,' the insect added, suddenly drawing his sword clear of Kazumi's shoulder.

He held the blade above her face, causing hot droplets of blood to trickle in her eyes; she looked aside, and rose her outstretched fingers over her face. The blade moved as well, its tip, and the trail of blood descending under Kazumi's chin, and lingering above her throat, before slipping even further down, over her collarbone and over her breast.

Oddly enough, however, the young woman felt no fear.

It was not her mind that refused the feeling; on the contrary, when the voices began to murmur, her thoughts were racing and twisting, acknowledging one threat after the other. She could all but imagine the blade descending, not swiftly, but slowly and purposefully, not once, but many more times until she would finally scream. Despite the soothing whispers, her mind found even more horrid images, in which the blade was replaced by the equally sharp Hollow incisive, she could think of humiliation before death, and yet…

Yet, despite the pain in her shoulder, and the maddening sensation of blood trickling across her cheeks and spreading under her back, Kazumi's heart refused to race. Its beat was slow and steady, driving equally steady, deep breaths. Her hands felt warm and alive, and neither numbness, nor adrenaline coursed through her muscles.

She closed her eyes, sensing the fact that the hand of the Arrancar who kneeled above her had stopped, and that the blade now lingered above her heart; she drew a deep breath, driving all thoughts out of her mind, and listening to the strange calm that enveloped her body. Another might easily have thought that it was simply surrender, the natural acknowledgement that it was simply the end – Kazumi thought and felt nothing of the sort. She simply listened to the familiar voices that whispered to her senses before her mind could truly understand them.

The young woman reopened her eyes, gazing straight into the face of her captor. The Hollow was looking away from her, his attention consumed by something Kazumi could neither see nor feel, but which, she guessed, was the source of her strange calm.

She smiled.

'I guess it would be nice of me to say I am sorry for you,' the young woman said softly.

The Arrancar above her snappily looked down, and hissed, straightening his blade. His companions too drew closer, temporarily more fascinated with the daring of such easy prey than with whatever had held their interest a second before.

'But,' Kazumi considered, suddenly relaxing in full, 'it would be not very courteous to lie.'

The female Arrancar snarled, baring her teeth – blackened, polished fangs, which already dripped yellowish saliva - and drew her own blade, while her dark haired insect companion hissed once more, and gripped his own weapon's hilt with renewed determination.

Kazumi's voices spoke clearly this time, telling her that it was all pointless; Kazumi's voices were never wrong.

As darkness stole above, catching the three Arrancar unprepared, erasing them from both view and existence, Kazumi could smell nothing but the vaguely familiar smell of sea water; with a last remnant of strength, she held her arms out, catching secure hold of Findor Carias' shoulders, and not minding the fact that the boney plates which covered his shoulders scratched her forearms.

Hellfire exploded in the very next second, catching the tips of her hair.

* * *

The three heads rolled on the fire-lit pavement, leaving no trace of blood from their severed necks; one stopped against Ggio Vega's bent ankle. The other two rolled for a few more feet before coming to a stop in their turn. On one, the widely parted and cracked jaws of an insect mandible hung limply to the sides.

Ukitake Jushiro could not truly see behind Stark. The bright light of the fire which Vega's Cero had lit was painful, when contrasted with the darkness which had reigned until a few seconds earlier. It was thus that the Shinigami only intuited Findor's presence by the long string of spluttered invectives which rolled off Vega's tongue.

_Traitor…Coward…Fool…_

The other presences had scattered with great haste, the traces of their energy vanishing as if they had never been – a pack of helpless scavengers fleeing out of the path of the true hunter. Alone, and gushing out blood at each word, Vega still struggled to maintain his balance on one knee.

_This will be remembered, Findor…His Majesty…_

Stark took a step forward, looking at the defeated feline with what appeared to be a mixture of mild amusement and great boredom. A few feet behind him, Findor straightened, allowing Ukitake to catch a fleeting glimpse of his frail charge; he could not tell whether she was moving. All he could see was the fact that Findor's white pincer was stained with vibrantly red blood.

Vega's mumbled curses stopped abruptly, oddly becoming more poignant in their absence; shadowy figures, clad in both black and white, started appearing all about, but maintained themselves at a distance. Ukitake knew Stark too well by now to suspect that he'd summoned any reinforcements – nonetheless, the balance of the energies in the small crossroads changed, with disbelief, disdain and heavy reproach replacing the triumphant malice of Vega's companions.

'I am not even pissed,' Stark said, with a minute shrug.

The feline Arrancar gritted his teeth and staggered, for a single moment looking as if sheer resolve would bring him to stand; the impression was transitory and all the effort accomplished was even further draining his energy.

'Findor, you bastard…' Vega spat, as if the pointless channeling of fury towards his fellow Fraccion had been the only thing that could still bring solace; the Primera took another step forward, his long, crooked shadow draping over the other Hollow's broken figure.

Vega refused to look up.

'…and you,' he yelped, addressing the multitude of figures which drifted in the shadows. 'All of you! Have you all forgotten what we fought for? ...victor's rights,' Vega whispered, his voice losing strength. 'Victor's rights, not…lingering…here, amid the weakling Shinigami…Not dwelling amid those who should rightfully be our prey! Fighting their enemies for them! Our rightful reward…Have you all…'

The shadows produced no response, and Stark yawned.

'The irony, master Vega,' the Primera said, without haste, 'is that I am sure that not all of them have forgotten what _your_ purpose here was. However,' Stark added, unconsciously shaking his ungloved right hand, as if he'd been attempting to keep his wrist from falling asleep, and giving one of the severed heads a small, meaningful nudge with his ankle, 'those who have not forgotten should, by now, be far more terrified of me than they ever were of His Majesty, Barragan.'

It was only then, when what must have been the ultimate insult had been spoken, that Vega looked up to meet the Primera's glance.

'Don't you dare,' Vega hissed, between clenched, bloodied teeth. 'Don't you dare…'

He swallowed dry and looked beyond the Primera and towards Findor, who'd let Kazumi stand on her own feet. She'd staggered slightly, her face still hidden and all her weight still leaning on the Arrancar's pincer. The sheer hatred that raged in Vega's his eyes, and his impotent frustration at the fact that he'd failed to finish off his innocent target caused Ukitake to shudder, but failed to stifle his joy.

The Shinigami inched forward, away from a fight that no longer regarded him, but though he had not taken his eyes off Vega, Stark hastily stepped to the side, barring Ukitake's path and blocking his view.

'Don't push it,' Stark said, under his breath; somehow, the Shinigami found himself ill prepared for the lingering, cold fury in the Primera's voice. He'd half expected that the obvious gentleness of Findor's grip on Kazumi and the genuine concern on the blonde Fraccion's features would reflect in Stark's disposition – but then, the Shinigami bitterly thought, he'd perhaps allowed himself to expect too much, and mistake the Primera's intervention for help. Adrenaline, and the sudden sensation that the threat had not vanished, but simply taken a new shape caused Ukitake to unconsciously straighten his swords. He realized the danger in his gesture but a second too late, and forced his muscles to relax; Stark frowned menacingly, but pointedly forced himself to look away in turn.

Vega chuckled.

'Fear you…' he picked up once more. 'Who'd fear you, Stark, now, when you are only half of what you were? No wonder that you have no courage to avenge us, when you even lack the courage to avenge yourself…I am sure,' he breathed, 'that you have thought of little else since this worthless insect was brought here…His majesty knows it, and I know it and yet…'

His words melted into yet another blood curling scream, and he was jolted forward as if a myriad hooks had been pulling at his skin.

'I mentioned that it was…ironic,' Stark grinned, stepping forward; the steady river of blue reiatsu particles which flowed from Vega's body and towards the Primera's deceivingly relaxed fingers pulled the Fraccion up to his feet. The sight of his limply hanging body failed to conjure any compassion in either Ukitake or Stark. 'But while I will concede to that particular irony,' the Primera said, slowly, 'the day when you and his majesty Barragan manage to provoke me into anything more than a narcoleptic fit lies far in the future.'

'Kill…' Vega winced.

'Kill you?' Stark hissed. 'I think not. I think I will leave that pleasure to your beloved master, once he finds out how utterly you have covered his name in glory, here.'

Unspoken panic, which far surpassed pain exploded in the tiger's amber eyes and gave him the strength to minutely pull away from Stark's grasp - the flow of energy grew in strength, causing him to yelp.

'You may also convey to his majesty that I am as impressed with his current efforts as I always was with his historical ones,' the Primera continued, with biting sarcasm, 'and that, even if there is only half of me left, he still needs iron teeth if he wants to gnaw at my ankles. Crawl and die somewhere else, if you please.' He concluded dryly.

The reiatsu river dissipated, and Vega fell to the ground, all but unconscious; Stark turned away and slowly put his glove back on, bringing the entire encounter to an irrefutable end.

To Ukitake's surprise, however, the Primera's features reflected no trace of victory – the Arrancar simply looked tired, and, for a moment, even forgot to cut the Shinigami's line of sight towards his sister. The lapse lasted frustratingly little, giving Ukitake no more than a frightening, brief glimpse at Kazumi's torn shoulder.

'Stark…' he began, knowing the plea would be pointless and thus not even uttering it in full; he supposed that the fact that he knew his sister was alive and as safe as anyone could be in this fierce world should have brought some measure of comfort. Yet, the frustration of having her so close and not being able to touch her turned his heart into stone, allowing no sensation of ease. He looked away, and tiredly put his swords back in their scabbards, torn between the desire of insisting, and the fear that any further display of emotion would be unwise.

The night, he bitterly thought, had revealed Kazumi as a shared liability, a weakness that Stark had no reason to preserve. The last thing he wished to remind Stark of now was how dear she was to him, and how much pain he could cause by harming her…and yet, she was there, _there,_ but twenty feet away, injured, and even smaller than he remembered her, probably frightened and cold…For what was even worse, Ukitake himself felt helpless, and knew himself incapable of offering reassurance – what could have said, the Shinigami thought, when he had no power to end her imprisonment or ward off dangers both old and new?

He straightened his chin to meet Stark's glance, which had been upon him the entire time, and though the Arrancar's features expressed anything but benign curiosity, Ukitake offered a short, awkward bow. The Primera's lower jaw tensed, but he did not immediately look away – the impression of tiredness persisted, and the two men sustained each others' glances, both torn between staying and leaving, speaking or remaining silent…

'Onii-san…' Kazumi whispered, causing them both to cringe; neither of them moved however, as if each had feared to take his eyes off the other, and for a second the young woman was the only who dared to do more than breathe.

She shakily stood away from Findor, who seemed too shocked to stop her. Her small hand lingered on the Arrancar's pincer for a moment longer, but though she winced when she fully stood on her own two feet, she did not stop. The two Hollow exchanged an urgent glance, as if the injured, frail woman had been some form of momentous threat, yet both remained immobile – Kazumi slowly staggered towards her brother, succeeding in no more than two steps before having to lean heavily on the forearm Stark had belatedly stretched to bar her path, and transforming the Arrancar's forbidding gesture into a generous one so swiftly that he was left with no time to react.

The young woman only looked up for a second, then attempted to smile; the sheer effort of standing drained the energy away from her features, however, so she only managed a shadow. The fact that her brave attempt did not melt Stark's frozen features did not cause her to hurry, so she rested for a second, her hands entwined over his forearm – when she finally let go, she had no more than a step to go.

Ukitake rushed forward, kneeling to catch her just as her strength faded. Kazumi's arms fell limply over his shoulders, but though he held her with all the despair of a year's worth of worry and guilt, he did not take his glance off Stark. He expected that the Primera would react somehow, in the first second, or perhaps the next one, or as soon as the eye contact would cease, and, as Stark looked on, Ukitake thought of nothing but of how much he simply wished that he could lift her in his arms, and take her away from all threats, and felt nothing but the still warm blood on her shoulders.

The Primera did not move; instead, Kazumi briefly awoke, and returned her brother's embrace. The feeling of her arms tightening around his shoulders was overwhelming enough to drown out all threatening realities, so Ukitake glanced down, finding her smile akin to the first ray of sunlight breaking through the eye of a storm.

He said nothing, because he could think of nothing to say, while she nestled her cheek to his chest and sighed in pleasure and unexplainable relief.

'I missed you too, Onii-san,' she whispered, her tiny fingers gripping his shoulders as painfully as if they'd been built out of iron, just a second before once more falling limp – her hands slipped, and she suddenly felt heavy and lifeless, like a piece of wood.

Ggio Vega's laughter rose madly from behind, laden with wicked, uncontained joy; the Shinigami looked over his shoulder, expecting the Arrancar's eyes would be fixated on his back, or that his gaze would hungrily be weighing Kazumi's body. Instead, Vega had set his blurry glance on Stark, and his cackles were directed to the Primera alone.

'Fool…Nothing…' the Segunda Fraccion managed, the sheer force of his mad amusement feeding his body, and lending him enough energy to push himself up on his elbow, 'you will watch _them_…_this_…and do nothing_…again…_Barragan-sama was right – no matter what you think, you're not screwing that Unohana woman, it's her screwing _you_, and a worm in your spine…and it won't be long, not long at all until it will chew its way right through your brain…'

It was all he managed to say before Findor's pincer struck him across the face, knocking him unconscious – only part of Vega's words had registered with Ukitake; unwillingly, as if he were seeking to protect a child from a phrase unfit for its ears, he slipped his hands through Kazumi's hair and pressed her head to his shoulder. Instinctual disgust, as thick and sickly sweet as blood filled his mouth and welled in his eyes, darkening the glance he set upon the Primera – disbelief followed, with swiftness which could only be explained by foolish hope.

'You wouldn't…' Ukitake mouthed, knowing that he was frowning with fury and disgust, but not caring about the fact that the time to display such emotions was desperately ill-chosen. 'You would not hurt her. It is only me you hate.'

_Not her,_ he thought, caressing Kazumi cheek, while Unohana Retsu's serene smile drifted before his eyes. _Gods, not her…_

Stark's distant and cold expression did not change, and Ukitake felt the Arrancar was looking through him, as if he had heard neither Vega, nor the Shinigami.

In the small second of silence that followed, it was only Findor's reiatsu that vibrated with concern, and an odd, subtle sense of sadness.

'I will transport Ukitake Kazumi to the 4th Division,' the Fraccion said.

The Primera seemed to ponder the offer for a moment.

'No,' he said; the tiredness resounded in his voice and stirred in his eyes, like low but punishing winds endlessly dragging cutting shards of ice over a frozen lake. 'I will,' he added, answering no questions.

* * *

Up next - more dreamscapes, and a bitter sweet reunion.


	56. The Dream

Hello, hello, as usual thanks for your kind words :)

A bit of sadness here, but then, there is more sadness to follow, albeit of the political and growing pains kind,

In chapter 56 - Where Stark is actually brave, bless.

* * *

_Why fear, God-child? it is you, after all, who has brought us to the dream._

_- Jon Irenicus, Baldur's Gate 2_

* * *

'I've missed you,' Lilinette said.

Stark awoke, but did not rush to open his eyes; when he did, he glanced upon the broken gothic arches which rose above him without fear and without doubt, knowing and not knowing that he was not truly awake, but giving the sensation no thought.

Indistinct, milky light, which could only be seen on dusk and dawn when neither sun, nor moon graced the sky, drifted in though stained glass windows, borrowing their colours. Tiny particles of dust danced in the air about, and the mist bore the smell of old wood, old pages, incense and melted wax.

He rose to his feet, and glanced about himself, at the two rows of wooden stalls which lined to his left and right, finding them quiet and empty, and indifferent to the light above; long, precise shadows flowed from the small spaces between the wooden benches, streams of darkness pouring into the central isle, where he'd been standing. An old door stood some thirty feet away. Its hinges were rusty, and time had dented the carvings which had once graced its wood into dull waves and dents. Its handle hung limp from decay, but polished by frequent use.

'I have missed you too,' he said, not feeling her, but simply feeling whole and unafraid.

White stone carvings of long forgotten saints drained the light from their surroundings, standing resplendent but casting more darkness behind them.

'You wanted us to be married here,' Lilinette spoke once more; her voice did not echo below the tall arches. It simply rang in his mind and in his heart. 'I never really understood why, even then you did not believe in anything.' she added, with a bit of scorn, making him smile bitterly and lower his glance.

Stark turned about, to glance at a familiar altar. Tall, candles stood upon it in golden, intricate holders, awaiting to be lit; he stood in doubt for a second, waiting and hoping for them to come alight on their own, and chase the shadows or at least add to the light, but the miracle evaded him once more. The candles remained unlit, new and untouched, underneath the heaviest shadow of them all.

_Not even in dreams_, he thought.

'I don't know either,' the man answered, finding that his own voice did bear an echo. 'I imagined you would have wanted it.'

He did not find speaking to her like this strange, nor did he worry that this vision, like the many others which had recently plagued his nights would turn deceitful and vicious; if this dream had had anything to do with the others, the candles would have become lit, and the illusion would have hasted to fulfill his wish. It was also, he thought, that he was used to speaking to Lilinette like this, in the life before Aizen and his gem, when years, weeks, hours and minutes had no more meaning than specs of white sand. Maybe even in the life before that; his memories blurred for a second, as if a sheet of water had suddenly fallen over the surface of a clear painting. Once, the water would have carried away all colour into a murky, grey outpour, leaving the canvass blank; now, there was not enough of it, so the lines merely drifted. The colours remained in place.

'I didn't know if you wanted me to come,' Lilinette added, with tired reproach; he suddenly felt cold with her sadness, and lowered his glance. 'I needed to come, though...I thought...I guessed that with all the new, you would be...'

She did not finish the phrase, but the thought finished itself.

'I am.' Stark answered. 'I am, both frightened and bitterly tired.'

_...and I miss you. _

'I am frightened, too. I have seen...' she whispered. The phrase remained unfinished yet again, but this time, neither of them rushed to complete the thought. He felt the urge to apologise – after so long, and after so much he'd failed at, he felt as if he'd failed to deliver on even this single one promise.

Resolution, peace...the semblance of a future.

All seemingly close, all, yet again, lost...Warmth rose, from within and without, despite the fact that the sadness had not disappeared; for reasons unknown, and though his heart was not lightened, he briefly felt safe; she seemed happy to have caused the feeling.

'We can talk here, if you like,' Lilinette said.

Stark's glance lingered on the altar, and, for a moment, he felt the temptation of sitting down in one of the stalls, imagining she come to would sit beside him, with her new body, and speak to him in a voice that would echo beneath the arches. In fact, with strange conviction, he knew that if he sat, she would come too, and the desire of seeing her and hearing her almost grew overwhelming.

'Are you happy, outside of _us_?' he asked.

Lilinette hesitated.

'I don't know.' She answered, at length. 'I imagine...I imagine I was trying to learn how to.'

Images of Shinigami that he did not know overwhelmed him; he heard Grimmjow curse and laugh, and had an odd flash of three empty rectangular bottles. Two young girls, one blonde, like the frightened and overly thin young woman who was their mother, and the other as dark haired and blue eyed as their father rushed towards a man whom Lilinette held dear, another Shinigami that Stark did not know. He felt shy and awkward in her shoes, as the picture of the man putting his arms around his children rushed through his mind, and as the overly thin, blonde young woman offered a shy, hesitant bow, while stealing a glance that was filled with dread her husband's way. In Lilinette's thoughts, he tasted food that he found too spicy and too bland at the same time, and swallowed it quietly, looking only to the plate, before a toddler too young to hear commands, and yet too old to be caught by a briskly outstretched arm, put his small hand through the Hollow hole in Lilinette's stomach, then bent to the side, to see his fingers wiggling behind her back. There had been a moment of silence, but then she'd laughed, and the child laughed with her, then grabbed her by the nose before either his mother or his father could stop him; the Shinigami, whom her mind called Takeshi, had blushed furiously, and hasted to take the child away, but the boy had held on to Lilinette's shoulders for dear life, and she'd only laughed harder, as the blonde young woman had forgotten to be frightened and simply turned embarrassed.

He tasted minor hollow flesh, and fought through skirmishes that somehow seemed crucially important when seen through the russet eyes of a man that he knew without knowing – he felt frightened of many things, but proud of as many. There were Ulquiorra's shadow, Ichimaru's grin, Apache's laughter, with play fights, hair pulling and the odd, warm glances that passed between her and Grimmjow when they thought no one was looking…a distant, but no longer cold image of Halibel…a white scroll of paper, sealed with the emblem of two fishes, and ink stains on her fingers, two boys huddling on a shabby bed, a cherry tree bonsai passed to her by pale hands – the image hastily erased, as was the brief touch of those same pale hands over hers, and the warmth of _his_ gratitude...an entire world, from which he was absent, and in which he painfully felt his own absence, as the drifting shadow of a single cloud always present on the corner of a sunlit sky, just before all began to fade to grey, and more heavy clouds gathered on all corners of the horizon…

Stark felt cold.

'I guess it was never really the case,' she concluded. 'Time…'

He sensed her just behind him, beginning to take shape, and the weight of her disappointment caused his shoulders to grow even more crooked – he wanted to turn around and see her, but at the same time…

The feelings she'd shared, the images she'd shown were all incomplete and inconclusive, but they were all beginnings he could recognize – and though he knew that holding her would once more shut the world out and once more lock them in the safety of their shared memory, he understood with equal clarity that if he would, indeed, allow her to take shape and hold him, if he'd allow himself to see her, he would be doing nothing more than denying her the chance of seeing her beginnings through.

Was that not what he'd already been offered, in the dream? Stark thought, with a shudder. In all of the other dreams, in all of the other visions? The chance of stopping time, the chance of stopping her from taking journeys into this world of her own, the world in which he was absent and where so many uncertain beginnings which only led her further and further away...

'No,' he whispered, not knowing whether he'd done so out of strength, or for the fear that this dream would turn to be a more elaborate version of the others. 'No. Let's talk outside.'

Stark hastily turned away from the altar and the image that was tentatively taking shape beside him, and walked towards the door; he felt she was confused, and quickened his pace.

'There is nothing outside,' Lilinette said, when he placed his hand on the polished door handle. She'd sounded surprised, but not scared, and Stark hesitated for the final time.

'I know,' he answered, then resolutely pushed the door open, and stepped out into the mist.

He smiled when she followed.

There was truly nothing outside – not even the outer shell of the church, as they both remembered it. The door closed behind him, hanging into nothingness for a moment longer, before melting into the thick fog that swirled all around, and vanishing as if it had never been. Stark supposed he should have felt some amount of fear at being suspended into nothingness in his turn, but sensed her all around him, and succumbed to the eerie feeling of certainty that only dreams could deliver.

He even felt a little smug.

'You didn't think I'd come out here, did you,' he quipped, making her chuckle.

'No. That's why I didn't make anything,' Lilinette replied. 'If I'd known you'd come out, I would have at least made the garden.'

She danced around him, nothing but warm light in the twisting mist, and he only now noticed that he'd been wearing his old white tunic, and that the blue trimmings around the buttons and on his sleeves were new – it was the uniform that for some reason or another, their released incarnation had always worn, yet now, though the top three buttons were still open, there was no hollow hole between his collarbones.

He'd worn that, he remembered with sudden clarity, when he'd last seen her alive.

'Yes,' Lilinette confirmed, seeming pleased with the recollection. 'That's how I remember you best, so…'

'I should never have left you,' Stark whispered. 'I should have taken you with me…'

'You know why I like to remember you on that day?' Lilinette pushed, not taking note of his sadness. 'Because that day, when you said goodbye, you looked at me…like you had never looked at me before. Like…'

He remembered that too, and the contours of a tall ornate gate rose through the mists.

'You looked at me as if you'd been taking my clothes off with your eyes,' she laughed.

Stark felt as embarrassed as he had centuries before, when he'd indeed _looked_ and she'd caught him looking. He hadn't known whether to apologise or not – he still didn't know. He simply remembered that he'd blushed and she hadn't.

'You never looked at me like that before,' she repeated. 'Or ever after…'

'I couldn't,' Stark answered. 'You were never the same, after…you were always…'

_Like you are now,_ he thought, watching the light stream through his fingers.

'I am no longer like that,' she rushed to say. 'Now, I am…'

The words got lost, and the light grew scalding hot.

'I thought you would want to see me,' she said. 'But you still don't want to see me, and I don't understand. I know,' she began, sounding rebellious, 'about _her. _Everyone knows.'

'It is not _her_,' the man tiredly refuted. 'Just like it never was Halibel, Lilinette. We both know that.'

'No, _we_ don't,' Lilinette whispered. 'I thought…That seeing me would help, now that things are changing again.'

'It would', he admitted, wondering forth though the unwinding image of a sunlit garden; the shadow of a manor rose behind him as well, but he paid it no heed. 'I've never known you to lose your courage,' Stark said. He looked on, at the hinted figure of a tree; he knew it was an apple tree before her mind rushed to erase it. 'That was where we met,' he said, softly.

'That is where you died,' she scolded.

_But it is your dream,_ Stark thought, feeling neither fear, nor pain. _You're keeping me safe._

'I've never known you to lose your courage, Lilinette. If you do,' he chuckled, 'what hope is there for me?'

The young woman didn't answer.

'What did _it_ show you?' he asked, knowing she would not hide from the direct question; she did not, but she bided her time; the light slipped away from his hands, and danced over the shifting images of grass.

'_It_ doesn't know what to show me,' she answered, at length. 'Sometimes, it shows me you, and what our life together might have been like; sometimes it shows me great battles, sometimes it shows me families – Takeshi's, Uki's…'

She stopped abruptly, sensing the approach of the cold; the grass swayed under a sudden gust of wind, and the entire image of the garden vanished. The mists solidified and formed walls; a single chandelier, with burned out candles hung over a shabby wooden staircase that led down into the darkness of a cellar.

_That is where he killed you._

'Don't do that,' she whispered, erasing everything. 'It is my dream.'

'I know,' Stark answered. 'I'm sorry.'

'I cannot keep you safe if you go to dark places.'

He ran his fingers through his hair. 'I know.' He repeated, dully.

'What does it show you?' Lilinette asked.

'You,' he answered, promptly and without hesitation. 'You, and you alone. It is quite odd, I would have thought…'

He chuckled, closed his eyes and let himself fall back, arms crossed under his head.

'I would have thought there would be something else too,' he continued, drifting and watching the mists drift. 'I would have thought it would offer me Ukitake's head or Aizen's liver, or at least a couple of Gin's teeth…Or, on the positive side, some form of utopian image of some remote, perfect society, an endless library written only in French…'

Stark felt her light all around him, and drowned in the sound of her laughter.

'You should be serious,' Lilinette reminded.

'Why?' he sighed. 'It hardly matters. It only ever shows me you. It doesn't know how you truly look like, though – I have no memories of that - so it only gives me flashes of your body as I remember it, from that day…Of you standing in against the light of a window in my parents' house, of children, and books, and laughter…'

He swallowed dry, and she tightly gathered the light around him.

'Do I have breasts, in these flashes?' she asked.

'Lilinette!' Stark exclaimed, laughing despite himself. 'Now who is not serious?'

'Just checking whether it's an optimistic insight,' she giggled, holding him tighter.

'It is,' he said, softly. 'It is…So much so, in fact, that the first time it happened, I did not even wish to chase it away, though I was in the middle of battle – it felt, you felt,' he whispered, 'so good, that I almost wanted to close my eyes and surrender to it. As if time could roll back and undo itself...'

'Or as if the present itself had a million faces, and it could always show you the one you most wanted to see…' she picked up; he quietly nodded. 'At first,' Lilinette said, 'I only saw it when I was in the human world, but then...It followed me in Rukongai, until, finally…'

'Until it started springing in your mind, regardless of where you were,' he whispered. 'And it always leads to the same place.'

_Whispered words. A broken lock, and arches of fire rising from the darkness beyond it._

_Death._

_Sokyoku Hill crumbling under its own weight, as legions of winged creatures stormed the sky above, and a single figure towered hundreds of feet over the ruins. The magnificent white walls of Sereitei cracking and dissipating to dust, as nothingness and decay swallowed all in growing tides, and the sky itself darkened and cracked, as if it had been no more than a frail glass ceiling._

'Do you think it can actually do…' she began, losing her voice mid-way; he still felt no fear, but the sensation was artificial, and he knew that she was frightened.

'I think even _we_ can do that,' Stark answered. 'I think we already have, in a sense…'

'No,' Lilinette contradicted. '_We_ did nothing like that, _we…'_

'That is exactly what we did,' he insisted. 'They…_it_ followed us here, through the gates that we opened. Whether we open this final one, the one that seems to be keeping it from outright bursting into Sereitei may even be of lesser importance than what has already been done.'

'Why must you always be so final, about everything?' Lilinette bitterly asked, and the sensation of wanting to see her, and hold her returned with terrifying intensity.

'Because I wish that something was _final_, for once,' Stark answered, at length. 'Or maybe because I don't know anything either, and I fear uncertainty more than I fear anything else, even terrible endings. I don't know. I certainly do not mean to frighten you more.'

'The thing that terrifies me,' he continued, 'is that while I understand what it means me…_us_…to do, and I grasp the fact that the happy visions that always precede the destruction are meant to be the rewards, is the fact that I have the uncanny certainty that we would not be…_alive?'_ he whispered. '_Conscious_? _Us_? when we receive them. I feel as if it offering that once its plan has come to pass, we would vanish within it and…'

'Do you feel it intends to keep its word?' she asked, and he sensed the frown in her voice.

'I sense no deceit,' he answered, after a moment of hesitation. 'The images are so raw that they feel like they are coming out of the mind of a child who has no voice yet – a wicked child, and one with powerful thoughts, but a very simple one nonetheless. I do not feel it is lying. I think it feels it has no need for it,' Stark added.

'But why does it need us to shatter that lock?' Lilinette asked, in a voice that was full of protests. 'If it is powerful enough to crush Sereitei, like…like in the things it keeps showing us, what does it need us for? I…'

'I'm scared,' Lilinette said.

Stark cringed.

It was not even a year since the mere hint of the feeling in her heart, let alone the sound of the words would have sent him into a madness of movement; he would have stood, he would have smiled, and he would seriously considered whether the new enemy too would be like all the old enemies – whether it could be pactised with, and whether it could be deceived for long enough to keep them both safe. Those thoughts rose now, too, yet…

He felt across his chest, wondering when the feeling of the Hollow hole beneath his collarbones had begun to feel natural. It must have, at some point, because now, the feeling of uninterrupted skin and the heartbeat beneath it was anything but.

'Are you scared that I will give in?' the man bitterly asked.

'Just as much as I am scared that I will,' Lilinette answered.

The light which had sustained him drifted upwards, around his body and through his heart, and stretched above him, shimmering like bright sunlight over clear water. She didn't speak for a while, and neither did Stark. He felt he should have.

'I know that you are scared, Lilinette. I am too, and there is little else I would like more than to tell you to show yourself, as you are now, embrace you and wake up with you.' He said. 'We could give in to _it_, and find out what it needs us for, then plan around _it, _as we have always planned around everything else. I even have some confidence that we may succeed, and that if we did not, we would never even know that we had lost – I think _it_ truly intends to keep its word, and offer us whatever it has already shown us in the visions.'

_Imagine that. Imagine a dream that lasts forever. A dream unending._

'But every single time that I have had these visions,' he whispered, 'I've rejected them without a second thought…well,' he chuckled, 'perhaps without a third thought, the second thought was always there. I also know that you have rejected them; you do not even need to tell me that you have, because you are the one of us who knows that being happy is never giving up on trying to learn how to…'

'I'm _really_ scared, Stark,' Lilinette insisted; there was not only fright in her voice, now. There was outright panic.

_I know_, he thought. _Else, you would not have come, after all this time. I think I should be entitled to resent you a little for that, hm? But I won't, because it's your dream._

She quietly accepted the berating, and Stark felt sorry as soon as she did.

'I am scared too,' he offered. 'Not only that, I am monstrously angry as well. No matter which way I turn, I never seem to catch a break, but…Do you understand why I do not want to see you?' Stark whispered, dismissing her answers in thought one after the other.

_Because of that those pale hands across yours…I still wish they were paler still, and cold, and unmoving…But he is not the reason._

_Because of a single strand of grey hair, stranded in shimmering darkness…But she is not the reason either._

'If I saw you,' Stark said, 'I would deny you all of your fights – I never had the courage to let go of you, and I won't have it now; you are the brave one, you have always been the brave one. Knowing that I will have to wake up, once more without you…' he said. 'It doesn't matter,' he told himself, feeling his newly returned heart was breaking. 'It doesn't matter. It is not a vision of you that I want,' Stark said. 'It is simply you. _It _cannot give me that, Lilinette, and neither can seeing you, here.'

'You know,' he continued, struggling for strength at each word, 'all these things that we thought our human lives would have been…What if they had never truly come to pass? What if I had taken you to Paris, on that day, and you would have died in my arms anyway? What if you had lived and fallen in love with somebody else?'

'Don't be stupid,' she scolded, sounding small. 'Come on.'

'No, seriously,' Stark said, sitting up. 'What if my love of you, our love of each other was only so perfect because it never truly came to pass?'

'Is that what you think now?' she whimpered. Stark pressed his fingers to his heart, not feeling the Hollow hole, but knowing that it was there.

'No, that is not what I think.' He answered. 'And you know that. The fact that I love you will never change, and if it were only me, I would like nothing more than sinking into that dream, or this dream, and staying here, with you, for the rest of eternity. But…'

He chuckled at first, then laughed out loud, sensing her confusion, and then, as Halibel's words returned to his mind, her irritation.

'You have some gall thinking of her, here,' Lilinette muttered.

'I know, I'm sorry,' he chuckled again. 'But she was right. You cherish your journeys, your beginnings, and I cherish you because of them. I always have, since I have so few of actual ones of my own... In truth, we too only had a beginning, and waiting for all the possibilities that lay beyond it, not all of them good, but all certainly worth waiting for…I'd forgotten that, in Hueco Mundo…' Stark whispered. 'That, in the end of all things, I like waiting for you,' he said, softly.

Despite her efforts, the flesh beneath his fingers dissipated into the familiar darkness of the Hollow hole.

_Don't do that…Don't do that…It's my dream…_Lilinette cried, but he didn't truly hear her.

'Even when I'm afraid that you won't come,' Stark whispered; he reached up, running his hand through the light, in a clumsy attempt at soothing her. She streamed through his fingers, coating them in liquid gold; the mists around them thickened and swirled, almost hiding the light.

'It cannot touch us,' he said. 'It is your dream.'

* * *

Up next - It's not going to be Lili giving the game away.


	57. Silver Foxes

Good evening! I forgot to post yesterday (bad Abstract!), but at least this is going to be one busy week for posting. Long three-part chapter up ahead, so I will likely see you again in a couple of days :) As usual, thank you all for reading and commenting - you make our day when you do, and constructive criticism is always welcome ^^

So then, on to the events leading to (hopefully) the most spectacular and undeserved fall from grace known to man,

In chapter 57 - Where it is hard to tell friend from foe.

* * *

Takeshi's hand froze on the hilt of his zanpakutoh, blade drawn mid-way and fingers white with tension.

He'd seen them.

They were six – part of the outside guard contingent to the 3rd Division's captain's quarters, and the only ones posted on its western side; they had been so assured of themselves that they had not bothered to disguise themselves.

Why would they have? The Shinigami thought. They knew the exact details of the patrol schedules, and had probably arranged themselves in such a manner that only those who knew of their plan would be on duty that night. Had it not been for the fact that he'd shared a frugal dinner with Lilinette after the day's planning had been done, Takeshi himself would have been long gone…It must have been approaching midnight.

The men were moving quietly, with the practiced discipline of a group that had done the same thing many times over – their gestures were slow and precise, with no wasted motion and almost completely without sound. Small packages, with no trace of reiatsu, were being carefully placed in neatly drilled holes in the building walls and fence, meticulously spread over an invisible grid, which, he guessed, must have already covered a good portion of the yard's perimeter; this final and most dangerous step had probably been left to last. Once the placement was complete, he thought, the men would take safe distance and detonate the first of the charges – the explosions would ignite each other, and then… These, Takeshi thought, must have been those who had made such effective damage at the 7th and 9th, a few weeks before on the night of hell's breach. It was only that then, they would have had to sneak in, and run the risk that their carefully built net would be discovered in their absence, whereas now…

The young officer had been overjoyed at the fact that so many of the Shinigami who'd been stripped of their zanpakutoh in the early purges had been welcomed back; he'd felt inwardly proud that they'd been welcomed to the 3rd, and though he'd known almost none of them, he'd pleaded for each and every joining application as if the person had been a close friend. Neither he, nor his superiors had considered what perhaps should have been blindingly obvious – the fact that many, if not all of the Shinigami who had spent the past year outside of Sereitei's walls were involved with the groups that had struck within it, and that accepting them back into Sereitei without proper verification, presented them with a tremendous opportunity of attacking from within.

Though the attacks of the resistance and the unrest in Rukongai had intensified over the past few weeks, the 3rd's frequent incursions to the human world, and the surprisingly effective patrols to Rukongai had kept Takeshi inattentive to the apparent push. Somehow, since the 3rd had not experienced any attacks, he'd foolishly let himself think that the unspoken truce that had spontaneously been struck between them and Enishi's group had extended to Sereitei.

He didn't even know why he had hoped for that, the man bitterly thought, taking a step further and bringing himself out into the moonlight, but resolutely pressing his sword back in its scabbard, for fear that its energy would draw further attention. He hadn't been displeased to learn that the attacks at the 7th and 9th had dealt significant damage to the Arrancar stationed there, while the large scale attack at the 13th, and the various little explosions that had disturbed the peace of the man who called himself Captain Commander had left him feeling…relieved, he supposed. Perhaps even slightly grateful that others had not forgotten, and that some remnants of the old world persisted.

That others had the courage to do what Takeshi himself had wished he could have done, in the very beginning.

_Kill Hollow, kill these Hollow. Was that not our mission, our duty?_

The six men froze in their tracks, the hastily straightened and stood together, sensing that the officer's reiatsu vastly surpassed theirs; they did not reach for their swords – instead, all held on tightly to the charges that they'd been about to plant, and stared at him with steely determination. None shifted.

'There are Shinigami stationed inside that building,' Takeshi said, feeling his mouth was dry. 'Your enlisted companions.'

'No,' one of the six, a tall, broad shouldered middle aged man – he took a step forward in turn, letting the officer see that the left side of his face was marked by a subtle patch of overly smooth, pinkish skin, the tell tale mark of a recently healed burn scar. 'Not our companions,' he added, as Takeshi struggled for his name.

'Indeed, your companions,' Takeshi answered. 'The ones who accepted you in their midst, and allowed you to bear their marking…'

'No,' the scarred man repeated; his fingers tightened about the charge he was holding. 'Why are you not drawing, Takeshi Enryuu?' he asked.

Takeshi found himself wondering the same; he sensed that their combined reiatsu levels were nothing compared to his own, but also felt that if this was the case, their combined reiatsu would be but of speck of dust to either of the two entities that had probably gone to rest just tens of feet away. If either of them stirred, these men…

By the way in which they gripped their charges, he could tell that they did not care one way or the other.

'I have no answer to that,' Takeshi said, inching forward nonetheless. He distantly wondered if one of the men got impatient and ended the stand-off, all the charges silently planted for days would come alive as well, and how far the invisible grid reached. 'I have no answer. You have been given trust…'

'The movement is making progress,' the scarred one said. 'We have taken out tens of them at the 7th – now, hard pressed as the traitors are, all we need is success against one of the stronger Hollow for the faith to be rekindled.'

'Rekindling faith?' Takeshi whispered.

'Any of them will do,' the other snarled, baring his upper row of teeth to reveal perfect, white dentition. He measured Takeshi through narrowed eyes, then, as if testing the young officer's resolve, he advanced one step, raising the hand that held a bunch of iridescent vials over his heart. The others imitated the motion, bunching together and forming a line before Takeshi, in open threat.

The Shinigami officer did not retreat.

He was not afraid of the charges they all held, he discovered, though he well understood that if the explosions could kill such a great number of Arrancar, and they'd now been destined for Grimmjow and Lilinette, they wound certainly kill him. He was not afraid, though he should not even have been here - he'd been heading home; he imagined his wife must have been asleep by now, unless Enryuu the younger had anything to say about it, which he often did. The girls would have been asleep by now though, his wife would have seen to that, before brushing her beautiful hair a hundred times and lying down in the bed they'd shared since…well, Takeshi thought, he truly did not remember anything before her.

_Kill Hollow…_

The only thing that he could think of was all that he'd seen in the human world, of all of the destruction and all of the cycles cut short, of hell's minions, of hell itself…

An old world, Takeshi thought, a world he'd respected – the true Captain Commander, and the true Captains – a world that was certainly worth fighting for, but which, without the lives of the humans below, made little sense. An order without rooting and without basis, like in the darkest time in the history of Soul Society, when the Shinigami had been so concerned with their inner workings and leadership, that they'd all but forgotten their point.

'We are at war,' the scarred Shinigami said, eyeing him with suspicion and barely hidden hatred. The image made Takeshi shudder.

'Indeed,' he harshly answered, 'we are. Though I am sure you believe your war is different from ours,' he added, gritting his teeth.

'Yes, keep telling yourself that, 4th seat Takeshi Enryuu. It is not the war that is different,' the other responded, in an equally harsh tone. 'It is just that we are standing on different sides of it.'

The wind caused the leaves above to rustle faintly, and one of the six stepped back in obvious nervousness; some of his companions eyed him with reproach.

Takeshi noticed the opening, and took another step forward, hoping that the others would withdraw – he was still unafraid, and though he could sense the others' animosity, he felt little of his own. He simply felt torn, and left to wonder whether the scarred man, whose name he still did not remember had taken note of his opening just like Takeshi himself had taken note of his.

'Leave,' he said, oddly thinking back on the day when he'd used the same falsely confident tone of voice before the crowd in Rukongai, and just like the crowd, the men didn't budge.

'Why are you not drawing, if you wish to stop us?' the scarred man repeated. 'Have they not turned you fully yet, or are you simply a coward? We are prepared to die here; we have lost men to each attack before, and all of us know our chances. You leave,' the man said, pressing forth in his turn. 'Turn around, and head to wherever you were headed, thinking yourself lucky. Leave us to complete our work, and, for our part…'

The officer gritted his teeth, looking away, and towards his own heart, at the same time. The words had been intended to make him feel guilty. He knew it, of course, and he supposed that from their perspective, he was. Their expressions precisely mirrored those of the Shinigami of the 8th – suspicion and disgust – but though he scoured his soul, and painfully understood the source of their feelings, he felt revolt in his turn.

He'd seen those same looks before, in the year of Ichimaru Gin's treason, and all through a war that the 3rd had not truly been allowed to fight; he'd felt ashamed then, and months had passed before he'd mustered the courage to lift his eyes off the ground. That particular expression had been his only reward for his daring, and his sense of dishonor had only grown.

He did not feel it, now, however; he simply thought of all of the things that he had done over the past year, trying to find a single hint of what the men before him saw – he recounted all his actions, all of the things that he had said and done, and remembered the cold morning that had followed Kira's disappearance, the long decimation line…the fact that on that morning he'd tried to not count to ten on his own, of how he'd tried not to, but failed, yet somehow never managed to count further than six before the numbers turned into faces and the count broke…He remembered the first time when he had met Lilinette, and the sense of disbelief at the first few weeks of the two Arrancars' shadow command, when offences for which the 6th and the 8th were rumored to have been brutally punished for had simply slid by; he remembered Rukongai, the faces of the crowd and the smell of rotten fruit – all of the things that he'd seen and he'd done, over months that had gone by as minutes…He felt furious, without knowing whether he felt furious at himself, or at the men before him.

'This division,' Takeshi began, in a trembling voice, 'has done, and seen, enough. As,' he added, suddenly losing his voice, and willing himself through the phrase, 'as your allies in Rukongai should be able to tell you. '

The scarred man smirked, and exchanged a quick glance with his companions. He did not seem impressed, nor did it make him back down or lower the explosive charge.

'Whether it was enough to assure we are still on the correct side of any war,' the officer followed, 'is not for you, or anyone outside the 3rd to decide. Perhaps the 13th admired you; perhaps the damage you caused to the 8th Division was but a droplet in a bigger ocean. We are unlike the others, and you will find neither allies, nor support here - not like this. Leave. I expect to find your resignations and your zanpakutoh in Grimmjow-sama's office in the morning,' he said – in high contrast to the dry sound of his voice, he felt as if fire had been running through his veins.

'Silver foxes, each one to the last,' one of the others, a wiry man with pale chestnut hair remarked wryly; the rest of the group laughed knowingly, causing Takeshi's temper to flare at the old, familiar insult. He'd only seen Grimmjow in released form once, but a quick image of the panther's long, blue mane bristling emerged in his mind, bubbling to the surface of all other thoughts.

'Why?' he queried, hand now firmly fixed on the hilt of his sword. 'Why are we…what have you done over the past year that has been worthy? Killed two hundred Arrancar? Razed a quarter of Sereitei to the ground?'

'We've fought the traitors and their abominations,' the scarred one snarled. 'We have not surrendered to them, as you have...'

'Truly?' Takeshi hissed, in his turn, feeling his face was hot and guessing that it had turned crimson. 'And what difference has it made? What difference will this make? You are planning to kill two Hollow, but there are eight Shinigami and ten plusses inside that building. Did the kitchen staff somehow betray you too, by the means of over boiled rice? I wonder why, if you are so keen on rekindling hope, and think of your swords as no more than killing devices, you are not attacking the warehouses in the eastern district, to return your companions' swords and become a force to be reckoned with, rather than a band of cowards...'

'How proud you'd make vice-captain Kira,' the chestnut-haired man said, with poisonous irony.

'Vice-captain Kira should have stayed here,' Takeshi burst. 'If he was such a brave man, he should have stayed here, ordered us to disobey the new rule from within, and stood in line with the rest of us when the time came. Spare me speeches of Kira Izuru, who chose to abscond from all the responsibility that Kyoraku-sama and Kuchiki-sama have shouldered, and all the pain and humiliation they have endured, but thinks he somehow has the right to judge us in the same way they might.' he spat. 'I no longer care about vice-captain Kira. He is no more part of the 3rd than you are, and certainly not a name of relevance to me.'

Takeshi swallowed dry, once more resisting the urge to draw, and stared into the eyes of the scarred Shinigami, mirroring his determination. Little of what he'd said had made any difference – he could read it in the man's increasingly hateful grimace, and in the fact that his grasp had been about to crush the vials he held.

The silence stretched, the air filled with only the faint rustling of the leaves above. Takeshi thought he could hear minute scratching of glass against glass, but dismissed it to his imagination.

'I am not drawing because I do not wish to see you dead, or your families punished, regardless of how little I think of your actions.' He said, out loud. 'To me, us, and the two Hollow you wish to use as fuel for your hope have fought harder and more useful battles. I will not die thinking myself a silver fox.'

The scarred man smirked horribly – the blow of the explosion came like a solidified front of cold air, instantly removing feeling in the skin on Takeshi's face; he closed his eyes, and oddly thought of nothing else but counting the seconds. The ground beneath him shook, but he did not know whether he'd lost his footing because of that, or because of the grating wave of reishi that had suddenly rushed through his flesh.

Then, there was darkness and silence; Takeshi had not even lost consciousness, but he did not get the time to get up.

An impossibly heavy body pinned his down, crushing his ribs, and white claws sunk into the ground around his right wrist. His sword was snapped away, and the awkward, desperate gesture of his left arm attempting to catch the object had only served to entrap him further, as his unknown assailant had adroitly caught his forearm and twisted it around his back, pushing it upwards until the shoulder had snapped from its socket.

He couldn't breathe, and he did not struggle.

Before him, where the six Shinigami had just stood, was a tall black box, stretching so far upwards that it seemed to be a pillar of the dark skies above; it was no more than twenty feet wide, however, and no more than twenty deep, simple, deep blackness that seemed to absorb even the most minute trace of light. It stood for no more than a few seconds, leaving Takeshi time to notice that the world around him – the tree, with its rustling leaves, the white wall of the Captain's quarters and the small drill holes within it…all - remained intact.

The pillar began folding itself in from both top and bottom, as if it had been constructed out of sheets of a pre-determined size, which slid over each other along invisible rails. Its walls grew closer to each other as well, the reduction in both width and depth proportional from one second to the next, until the entire pillar was reduced to a single point of deep darkness, rimmed in purple light too painful to behold.

'I am a genius,' a smooth, insanely pleased voice declared, from somewhere behind. He instinctively tried to turn and see the speaker, but his position allowed him little room to move, and his assailant brutally jerked him in place. The point of darkness lasted for a single second longer, before succumbing to the burning purple glow – white figures of surreal shapes and sizes materialized around Takeshi, like mushrooms springing forth from the ground after a bout of rain. Most stood still, but one approached him with unhurried steps, causing the shadow of its one horned helmet to grow and elongate into a spear-like, black limb, which stung at Takeshi long before the cold, expressionless voice did. Somehow, though he could not truly see anything beyond the newcomer's boots, and he'd neither met the Hollow before, nor ever sensed its reiatsu, the Shinigami knew who it was.

'Takeshi Enryuu,' Ulquiorra Schiffer said. 'You are under arrest for treason, revealing of secret information and sympathizing with the resistance.'

Takeshi breathed in and out, sharply - the creature whom he recognized as Cuarta Espada looked down, meeting his confused glance, and stared straight through him with frozen green eyes. The Shinigami felt his body slump. He was still too confused to feel afraid; the image of his wife's hair spread across a white pillow caused him to swallow dry.

* * *

The fact that sekki stone shackles not only cancelled the reiatsu of their prisoner, but also their energy sensing abilities was little known and seldom discussed. It made sense, in a way, Takeshi thought – the device was reserved to dangerous criminals, and almost none of those who had earned themselves that particular method of imprisonment survived for long enough to talk about the experience.

He'd still recognized Grimmjow long before the door at the end of the corridor had opened, allowing in an illusion of light – there was a distinct swagger, a certain cadence to the Arrancar's step, that Takeshi thought he could by now make out anywhere.

He felt smaller and smaller as the steps approached.

Grimmjow stopped in front of Takeshi's cell and looked down at his kneeling officer; his Hollow jaw was so tense that it seemed sharper, and actually fused to the human features it covered. He didn't look tired, but then, he never did. The Hollow's powers of regeneration seemed to help with everything, from long hours of training, to what must have been crippling hangovers, to, Takeshi discovered, nights spent awake, probably _eating crap_. Because, the Shinigami dully thought, the fact that he was still in the gallows of the 3rd, and not at some unknown location on the grounds of the 2nd showed that no effort had been spared on his behalf. It would not have been the type of effort that either Grimmjow or Lilinette were used to, and not a concession that Ulquiorra Schiffer would have lightly granted – if only because, if the Cuarta hated Takeshi's superiors as much as Lilinette and Grimmjow hated him, he had probably enjoyed seeing them cower.

The Shinigami hadn't truly thought that he'd outright be abandoned, yet, he had not considered he would be defended either. What he'd thought, when Grimmjow and Lilinette had disappeared into the 3rd's common room, followed by Schiffer and another, pink-haired Arrancar, who seemed to be the shadow of the 12th, was that his officers would try on his behalf, then, sooner or later, give up, due not to lack of concern, but simply to the fact that Ulquiorra Schiffer made both of their legendarily short fuses even shorter. He'd imagined that Grimmjow would curse, and Lilinette would somehow try to reason, but that neither action would have any effect on the Cuarta, and that, unless open conflict broke out, both Grimmjow and Lilinette would leave, punching through doors and walls, and probably coming close to replicating the damage caused by the explosion they'd so narrowly avoided.

None of that had happened, though he supposed that the hastily applied sekki shackles had kept him oblivious to the reiatsu storm – he'd merely seen shadows moving swiftly behind the Shoji panels, and then, an hour or two later, he'd been grabbed by his dislocated shoulder and thrown in this cell. No one had spoken word to him before now. He supposed it was nearing dawn.

'…the fuck did ya say, dude…' Grimmjow said, and if he didn't look tired, he certainly sounded tired. Takeshi chewed on his gag. He'd never heard that inflexion in the Sexta's voice, and by the look on Grimmjow's features, he supposed that Grimmjow wasn't used to it either. The Arrancar glanced down at him for another second, then sat on the ground, leaning his shoulders on the wall of the narrow corridor, and looking at the floor.

'What the fuck did you say?' he exploded, a second later. He raised his glance to Takeshi, and the fury depicted on his features left the Shinigami assured that but for the solid cell bars which stood in between them, he would have been on the receiving end of an entirely new spectrum of physical punishment.

He felt so deeply grateful that his heart seemed to be caving in.

'Thank you,' he attempted; the gag muffled the words, but the expression on his face and his slight, pained bow must have conveyed the sentiment well enough, for Grimmjow punched the floor so hard that the deep set granite pavement cracked like glass. The Arrancar shook his head, and looked away.

'…why the fuck didn't you draw,' he said, swallowing dry. 'If you'd drawn, I'd have been there in the next second, an' none of this…'

Finding no other way of escaping his superior's scrutiny, Takeshi closed his eyes.

'Did ya think I was gonna turn them in?' Grimmjow asked.

Takeshi nodded, with his eyes still closed, then quickly shook his head, not knowing which sentiment was the strongest. He slowly reopened his eyelids and sustained Grimmjow's stare, feeling that the gag was biting at the dry corners of his mouth.

_I thought you would kill them, and…_

'Fucking hell,' Grimmjow spat.

…_and I didn't want that. Gods…_

'Do you know what sort of shit you landed us in, now?' the Sexta asked, dryly. 'Lili just rushed your family over to the 4th…D'ya have any idea what that's gonna cost her, on so many levels…'

Grimmjow shook his head furiously, ridding himself of unknown thoughts.

'Ulquiorra's talking full scale decimation here,' the Sexta breathed. 'As for you, ya gonna get like the mother of all executions, with bells and whistles and goddamn women stripping in celebration of the event. Hope that makes ya happy, dude, cuz…Cuz I dunno what to make of it, except I would smash your face in right now.'

'I'm sorry,' Taksehi whispered; his words came out as a muffled sigh, and Grimmjow gritted his teeth.

'This was a bad call, Takeshi,' the Sexta said. 'Real bad call. Ulquiorra's got it in for all of us like no tomorrow, and I know you an' Lili ain't clean, when it comes to what Schiffer's talking about, so…'

The Arrancar, a Hollow whom, by duty, Takeshi should have judged and killed, breathed in and out, hotly; another Hollow whom he should have felt obliged to judge, was attempting to keep his family as safe as they could possibly be – after he had not drawn, and betrayed them both, for the sake of six of those whom he should have felt compelling loyalty towards. He'd acted on that irrational compulsion, without truly feeling it – a simple mechanical reflex of days gone by, and now the six were gone, prey to their own sense of duty, and to their own loyalties, while the Hollow remained.

'I don't grudge ya, dude,' Grimmjow said, and though Takeshi knew little about the history of the panther and his shadows, he suddenly understood that beyond all the personal defeat that he might have caused Grimmjow to feel, he was truly not grudged. He distantly wondered if all of those standing in line and counting to ten over and over would feel the same, and he let the thought go, as if it had been a stone too heavy to lift more than two inches off the ground.

'There ain't nothing without loyalty, in this world.' Grimmjow said. 'An' I'm pissed at ya cuz I feel loyal to you, while ya don't feel loyal to me - but I respect your loyalty, even if I don't get what the fuck you are still loyal to. D'ya get it, at all? Doubt you do,' the Sexta concluded, looking away. 'You Shinigami are what you are. No use in challenging it.'

_No_, Takeshi thought, shaking his head, _no, there is use…_

'You're my crew, dude, so we ain't goin' down without a fight,' Grimmjow said, retracing his thoughts and nervously running his fingers through his blue mane. 'We ain't, just so you know – we're gonna fight this, for your sake alone, though ya did us no fucking favours; we're gonna see Gin in a couple of hours, and the line we gonna hold is that Ulquiorra misheard shit…'

The Shinigami officer lowered his glance.

'Yeah, I know he didn't,' Grimmjow growled. 'So, that's gonna be thin.'

The Sexta collected himself off the floor and stood, glancing down at the Shinigami with an unreadable expression.

'We fought damned hard for ya, Takeshi,' the Sexta said. 'We won that you're still here, but it's gonna be an overall loss, dude – this is just a stay. You ain't gonna survive whatever the fuck ya said, but for a miracle. An' those never happen. Ya gonna die, your wife gonna die, your kids gonna die, and your mates gonna die.'

_For the sake of six men, who are already dead, and whose names…_

Though he knew all too well that the gesture rendered Grimmjow insane with rage, Takeshi found little to do but bow so low that his forehead touched the floor, and despite the fact that the sekki shackles pulled at his shoulder, he remained bowed. He sensed Grimmjow chewing on his anger, just as he was chewing on his gag.

'I hope whatever you said was worth it, dude.' Grimmjow said, turning away. 'I really _fucking_ hope it was.'

* * *

Up next - Was anyone missing Szayel Aporro?


	58. Centre of Gravity

Good late evening again :) I warned you you will be seeing us again soon, and here we are :) Look out for us tomorrow too, hehe, this is a long chapter :)

As always, thanks for reading and commenting; we do respond to comments, so signing in before you do comment is not an useless endeavour.

So, on to Chapter 58 - Where, only Stark is missing. His ladies all are all there though. In the same place, at the same time...someone tell Szayel he is mean. Eh...

* * *

'Re-chan,' Szayel Aporro greeted, with glee that normally predicted no good. Unohana entered, carefully closing the door behind her, and feeling nervous for unexplained reasons. The Octava rarely summoned her – and in truth, it felt strange to be summoned out into the office that had once belonged to her chief biologist, since she still occupied the large Captain's quarters.

She had been aware of the strange mix of energies for just over a few minutes, not long enough time to make sense of the hasty arrivals, but enough to make her understand that something important had come to pass during the night.

'Szayel Aporro,' Unohana returned, attempting a smile of her own – the expression froze on her lips, and she suddenly felt cold.

It was no wonder, she thought, that the mere hint of the more powerful reiatsu she'd sensed had unsettled her so – she had not been able to precisely place it, from the distance, but now, that it was close…

Lilinette stood almost six feet tall, and though her frame was unquestionably boyish, it exulted both energy, and distinct, flowing grace. Despite her pretty, heart-shaped face, she looked nervously thin, not like one who'd been purposefully attempted to be so, but simply as one whose body consumed itself from the inside by merely to keep in line with all the energy it contained; she had rich, heavy and thick blonde hair, which was clean but cut in a haste and distinctly uncared for, tiny hands with uneven fingernails, and Gods…Almost nothing left of the child Unohana remembered, and that she'd once mistaken for Stark's daughter; Lilinette looked tired, a kind of crippling tiredness which one would struggle to associate with one so young, while her wide, pink eye carried the same sadness she'd become so familiar with in his eyes.

'Fuck this, Szayel Aporro,' the young woman tiredly said, in a voice too soft to be fitting for the words, letting Unohana know that she'd been recognized as well.

At her side, a blonde young woman whom Unohana didn't know struggled to contain her tears; Lilinette bit her lower lip and purposefully looked away, trying, but not succeeding to hide whatever she might have felt.

'Ah, indeed, yes,' Szayel purred, making Unohana frown. 'It had to happen sooner or later,' the Octava indifferently shrugged. 'And I promise the both of you that it is about to get even more awkward in about three minutes, yet…I assume no introductions are needed.'

'No,' Lilinette said, not looking at Unohana.

'You know all too well that I am a man with a very helpful disposition, Lilinette.' Szayel said. Despite his agreeable tone, the phrase had been an undisguised threat. 'As I sensed you were rather flustered, I have agreed to help you, but the 12th does not accept refugees,' the Octava added. 'It looks to me like you scarcely have choices of a neutral division - it was either this, or the 6th', he added.

The reiatsu-less blonde young woman clenched her teeth, and looked to Lilinette in an undisguised plea – she'd gotten dressed in a rush, for her kimono was not straight, and her hair was pinned up in an unsightly way. She could not truly bring herself to speak. Lilinette's attention shifted to her, and the Hollow touched the plus' shoulder with yet more painfully familiar, awkward and instinctive kindness.

'Ya gonna be fine,' Lilinette whispered, swallowing dry. 'Don't worry, this has nothin' to do with you…Don't worry,' she repeated, suddenly looking away, and leaving Unohana the strong impression that she was making a promise she did not know whether she could keep. The other woman accepted it nonetheless, with the look of one who was clutching at straws.

'What happened?' Unohana asked, softly.

Szayel Aporro's grin turned triumphant.

'You will be pleased to know,' he began, 'that I have ingeniously devised a countermeasure to the explosives that have so entertained us both over the past few months, and recently ravaged the 7th and the 9th. Both the method and its associated implementation devices, which are ingeniously based upon the common Caja Negacion, have been successfully tested tonight, and, dare I say so, under field conditions.'

The Shinigami narrowed her eyes. 'I am afraid I do not fully follow,' she said, in a colder tone than she'd intended; the fact that Szayel Aporro was visibly flaunting his success over her did not truly annoy – she knew him well enough to understand he must have been bursting with pride, and, but for the desperate young plus, she might have indulged in a bit of curiosity and frustration as well. However, given the silent tears which were knotting under the blonde woman's chin, she discovered that the fact that he'd finally outdone her was tertiary at best.

'Our ever enterprising friends in the resistance staged an attempt on the 3rd Division, last night,' Szayel Aporro continued to explain, gracefully leaning against his desk. 'As far as I gather,' he said, directing his disconcerting and poisonous sweetness towards Lilinette, 'it was a rather…biting the hand that feeds you - or at least does not slap you - type of effort, but at least partially a successful one. They did manage to erase themselves out of existence, thus sparing Schiffer the effort of arresting them, and us, yet another three hours of time wasted on some spectacularly boring executions.'

'That was, however, the extent of the damage,' he smiled thinly, glancing at Unohana over the frame of his glasses, and inviting questions. 'They were tracked in time, and the explosion was successfully contained…'

'Would ya get over the mental wanking?' Lilinette rebelliously muttered.

'Not any time soon…_angel_,' Szayel Aporro purred; the form of address caused the young Arrancar to smirk horribly, and look away. 'Now,' the Octava continued, visibly pleased with the effect of his wording, 'the evening might have been a spectacular success, and no more, yet, just before the height of the drama…enter, stage left, a dashing young officer from the 3rd with a penchant for speaking rather too freely.'

Unohana nodded slowly, taking in the blonde young woman in an entirely different light.

'I understand,' she said.

'His endearing, but nonetheless inept attempts at talking our would be explosive specialists out of their plans may have left Ulquiorra with reasonable doubts over said officer's own attachments; thanks to the extraordinary precision of my device, he survived the adventure, and will live to speak _freely_ on another day, and probably to a much different audience. We can all, of course, be assured that since the bombers' partial success deprived him of the opportunity of getting some heads to roll, Ulquiorra will require...'

_Other heads to roll, in compensation._

Szayel Aporro ended his words in theatrical suspension, leaving Unohana to imagine the rest. She did not need much.

'I understand,' she said, once more. She raised her glance to Lilinette's and though she felt an unpleasant, cold twinge of insecurity at the fact that she instinctively found no fault with her, she inwardly berated herself, and gave the Hollow a decisive nod. Lilinette had been running the 3rd and been out in the world for months; she'd somehow gained herself the right of leaving Sereitei without supervision, and she'd doubtlessly come in closer contact with those who existed outside of Aizen's would be perfect society. If she was anything like Stark, the woman thought, immediately realizing the mistake in her logic and painfully correcting herself – if, indeed, she was Stark, Lilinette would have well understood the ambivalence of the Shinigami under her command. Perhaps looked away when they had not been as diligent as one might have expected, in regards to the resistance…Perhaps, if she was more action prone…

The entire line of thought was useless. Whatever her reasons, Lilinette clearly wished to protect her officer's wife, a thing, Unohana thought, that she would and would not have expected of Stark himself. She drew a deep breath, feeling that the young Hollow's glance was about to freeze her to the core, and smiled.

'Come,' she said, resting her hand on the blonde young woman's shoulder, and offering her a small bow. The plus jolted as if she'd been given a serious start, and looked up in disbelief – whatever this young woman had expected, it had not been this. 'Let us get you somewhere where you can rest safely.'

The woman hesitated for a moment longer than Unohana thought was justifiable; without a word, Lilinette stepped out, crossing the chamber, and opening the door to what had once been the science officer's private laboratory – and there, amid a cold and painfully sterile assortment of vials, tubes, racks and chemicals, three small children slept, huddled so closely that Unohana could barely count them, let alone guess their ages or genders. They'd been wearing no more than thin kimonos over their night dresses, and the room was cold. Its floor must have been even more so, since one of them had found the only thing that could be used for a blanket – one of Szayel Aporro's flawlessly pressed uniform capes – and wrapped it about herself and her siblings.

Unohana heard Szayel take a deep breath behind her, and instinctively raised her index without needing to look over her shoulder.

'Not _now_,' she said, briefly and commandingly – the predictable shriek was muffled into a pitiful sigh.

Lilinette's glance was about to bore a hole in her forehead, and Unohana felt briefly amused. The Arrancar looked almost provocative, as if she'd been daring Unohana to react to the additional challenge, and expected that the three children would be more responsibility than she'd be willing to shoulder. The smile she aimed at the young plus was even warmer and fuller.

'Come,' she repeated, running her fingers over the blonde woman's arm, to gently coax her to her feet. 'Let's get _all_ of you somewhere safe.'

The plus closed her eyes and took a deep breath in her turn. She stood, and found the strength to offer Unohana a polite and grateful bow.

The Shinigami thought that Lilinette had breathed at ease.

She sensed the new reiatsu and stiffened, unwillingly clutching the plus' forearm with painful strength. Lilinette's chin snapped straight, and all traces of relief vanished from her eye – in turn, Szayel Aporro chuckled to himself and gracefully stood away from the desk he'd been leaning on to open the door.

'Oh, my,' Tia Halibel said, with unpleasant, royal amusement – and though Unohana had seldom experienced the sensation in all her long years, she suddenly felt as if she'd been a rabbit caught in the stare of a snake. 'Lilinette,' the Tercera greeted, coldly. 'Unohana Retsu,' she added, in open amusement.

The Shinigami swallowed dry.

'I have to hand it to you, Szayel Aporro, your preference for a dramatic setting is truly something to marvel at.' Halibel said.

The Octava chuckled knowingly.

'Always,' he seductively uttered, not bothering to hide the fact that the stand off he'd created amused him to no end. 'Always. All that we are missing now, for a truly epic stage, is the gravity center of the triangle himself.' Szayel Aporro added, smiling thinly. 'Sadly,' he sighed, 'I could not arrange for Stark's presence…'

'What the hell are you doing here?' Lilinette spat, between clenched teeth.

Halibel measured her, then, the entire scene with cold attention, and though she dispensed no more than a passing glance to either the plus or her three children, the young woman began to shudder uncontrollably. As if she'd been snapped from a dream, Unohana pushed the plus forward, silently prompting her to wake her children; she met Halibel's glance, oddly finding that it contained little but curiosity.

'Your Fraccion is getting quite impatient outside, Unohana Retsu,' the Tercera remarked. The Shinigami found herself nodding to the not too subtle invitation to leave.

'Wake them,' she whispered, protectively standing between the young plus and the three Hollow. The young woman seemed frozen in terror. 'They will come to no harm, but wake them,' Unohana followed, not looking at Szayel Aporro, but to Halibel. She thought she'd seen the shadow of a nod.

'What the hell are you doing here, Halibel?' Lilinette hissed, taking a step forward in open rage.

Not knowing whether her rush was caused by the fact that she wanted the plusses out of the way of whatever would follow, or because she wished herself out of the way, Unohana picked up a still sleeping little girl, and held her a bit too tightly when the child began to struggle.

She hurried to the door and stepped outside only for long enough to pass the little girl to Isane – as if the Shinigami's rush had suddenly awoken her too, the plus lifted her toddler in her arms, and grabbed the arm of her other child, impatiently dragging her to her feet. Startled and confused, the girl began to sniffle. Unohana lifted her up, and pressed her cheek to her shoulder, bringing her reiatsu to bear in such a way that the child was artificially, but immediately soothed. The blonde young woman rushed out, casting a final, pleading glance towards Lilinette; Halibel did not miss the exchange.

'Believe it or not, _angel_,' she said, her eyes hinting at the fact that her visor concealed a blood curling smile, while her words suddenly made Unohana understand why Szayel's earlier irony had so struck Lilinette, 'I am here to help _you_ help _me_.'

Though she still held the child, Unohana unwillingly stopped in the doorway and turned, gazing at Szayel Aporro in open question, seeking assurance that the young woman and her children would not be used as pawns in what was to follow. The Octava smiled, in the way which made him seem painfully young.

'Do not worry, Re-chan,' he said. It was precisely the lack of any inflexion in his voice that made Unohana believe him.

'We have no harmful intent towards the plusses,' Halibel added; another glance that neither Unohana nor Lilinette could quite place passed between the Tercera and the Octava. 'We merely intend to…'

She cut herself off with a freezing chuckle, and it was Szayel Aporro's turn to pick up the phrase.

'For however needlessly dramatic the setting might have appeared, all the actors were needed; I am sure that the opportunity of providing shelter pleases you,' Szayel said, waiting for Unohana to nod. 'While we,' he continued, smiling at Halibel, 'have merely assembled with the intent of initiating Lilinette out of the the woefully non-exclusive circle of people who do not have Ulquiorra Schiffer to heart, and into the very exclusive one of people who can actually take him down.'

Lilinette's eye widened in utter shock, and she let her arms, which she'd kept fiercely crossed over her chest thus far fall slack along her body.

'Be sure to convey this to Stark, at your earliest convenience,' Halibel said, not letting Unohana guess whether the statement had been a sting or not. 'I am always happy to please him.'

* * *

Up Next - more Szayel :P None of it him being a nice guy.


	59. A Game of Thrones

Hey all, a rather long one ahead :) Should make us all miss Szayel less, as well as be slightly scared.

Thank you for reading and commenting.

Chapter 59 - where, if you play the game of thrones, you win or you get non-tea with Tousen. Wonder if Lilinette sees that o.O

* * *

The sensation was thoroughly new, and very unpleasant, Lilinette thought, trying not to fidget under Halibel's stare. Under the circumstances, keeping herself in place felt disproportionately difficult, even more so because frustration was feeding her unrest. A small voice in the back of her mind told her that this, whatever it was, was _not good_. That it couldn't possibly lead to anything good, either, and that at any moment after Unohana's energy would withdraw enough, both the ice queen and the little gay one would suddenly ditch their serious fronts, point at her and bend over laughing.

_Because_, the girl thought, _this had been…fail._

In the course of a single night, all of the things that she thought she'd succeeded at over the past year had crumbled, like a castle built out of playing cards, and she had not yet let herself acknowledge the full dimensions of the disaster; she'd been too busy trying to keep Takeshi out of Ulquiorra's hands, if only for a little while longer, while she figured out a plan.

_Fat chance_, the voice in her mind said, making her grit her teeth. _There's no plan to be made here._

And there wasn't, or at least none that Lilinette cared to make – the situation was simple, clear, and the only logical response to the fact that she'd been targeted by the very people she'd protected was going to sleep for a century, and letting God sort out his own. She supposed that what Stark would smartly have done under the same conditions would be to peek outside, ask everyone to go about their explosions and bloodshed quietly, and gone back to bed.

_In the end, one didn't have heartache while one slept. Only really bad dreams._

Still, she'd felt little and acted out of inertia, missing out on the split second of wisdom when she could have opted out of the aftermath, and decided not to keep fighting for those who clearly had no desire to fight for her. Or even alongside her.

Lilinette figured that Grimmjow felt much the same, though he probably didn't think as far as all that – which also made him wiser that Lilinette felt, at the moment. Still, she conceded, with a deep breath, things were as they were. Her first instinct had been to protect Takeshi; she'd gone with it, and though she felt angry and powerless, she felt no regret. Who knew, Lilinette wondered. Maybe that was all about to change.

'So.' She said. 'What'd he say?'

'Who?' Szayel Aporro inquired, ironically arching an eyebrow. Halibel chuckled, the sound suddenly making Lilinette question whether it was OK for women to punch other women in the gut.

'Ya know who I'm talking about,' she muttered. 'Don't play games with me, I ain't in the mood.'

The Octava smiled obligingly. 'He said a bit too much. Not overly so, however – there was much…ambivalence,' He added, settling down behind his desk. In turn, Halibel sat on one of the two large studded leather visitors' armchairs, crossing her legs and royally placing her hands on the armrests, in an infuriatingly confident posture.

'You are standing on my nerves, Lilinette,' Szayel Aporro suddenly snarled – the girl let herself fall in the other armchair, limbs spread in all directions. Not because she'd been impressed by Szayel Aporro's show of authority, but simply because her knees were aching slightly; she sighed, and brushed a strand of hair off her forehead.

'Difficult morning,' Halibel said, in an awkward tone. It could almost be mistaken for kind.

'Yeah,' Lilinette admitted, squinting slightly, as if expecting that the Tercera had undergone some sort of physical transformation that would justify what she'd just said. She didn't know what it was with Halibel, Lilinette thought, feeling more tired by the minute – it was perhaps in that accursed visor, or in her perpetually narrowed eyes, or maybe the fact that Halibel was always so straight and stiff that one could easily suspect she'd swallowed a broom. Whatever it was, Lilinette could not read her, nor for the life of her see what Stark had seen in her, or even why Apache loved her so much.

'How long before our audience with Gin?' Halibel asked; Szayel Aporro consulted a weird wristwatch, which was sown in to the interior of his right uniform sleeve, and which displayed strange, square numbers.

'An hour and a half,' the Octava answered.

'We?' Lilinette perked. 'I thought it was just me, an' Grimm and Schiffer…'

'Yees,' Szayel Aporro purred. 'I am sure that the Cuarta was only too pleased to leave that particular impression. It is not the case,' he added, smiling sweetly. 'In fact the opposite is true – Schiffer is himself imposing on a meeting that myself and Halibel had previously scheduled.'

Lilinette shook her head in confusion and defeat.

'Look, people, I ain't…' she sighed, not knowing what she wasn't.

She expected some sort of irony would follow, but nothing did; Szayel Aporro's face became expressionless, and he leaned forward, pressing his chin to his fingers.

'I know this will be a novel experience for you, Lilinette,' he said. 'But let us attempt to make it as little unpleasant to myself and Halibel as we possibly can. For the next fifteen minutes I shall ask you to try to think before you speak, or curse, as the case may be,' he snarled.

'Is the Sexta's presence at this meeting truly necessary?' Halibel asked, not bothering to disguise her disdain for Grimmjow. The fact that she was even thinking of that, now, infuriated Lilinette to no end.

'Yeah,' she spat. 'He got as much stake in this as I do…'

'A pity,' Halibel sighed, exchanging another unpleasantly knowing glance with Szayel Aporro. 'The encounter with Gin will be far harder to stage if Grimmjow is included.'

'Stage?' Lilinette echoed. Again, no irony followed. Halibel simply nodded.

'As I have previously attempted to impress upon you,' the Tercera began, slowly, 'premeditation and the choice of a correct tone and forum add value to any conversation. Knowing what you wish to obtain from a meeting is only a quarter of actually getting it, and sometimes, stating your cause with sweeping honesty and colourful language is not the correct approach. Ulquiorra Schiffer knows this well, and he has probably thought through the next two hours very carefully; the fact that he has picked a semi-correct forum, but probably will not be able to find the correct tone to further his agenda is the only thing that you have going in your favour.'

'Yeh, well, Ulquiorra wants my balls,' Lilinette muttered. 'That ain't hard to guess…'

'Firstly,' Szayel sighed, 'you possess no testicles.'

'Well, then, Grimm's balls,' Lilinette smirked.

'That is not what he wants,' Halibel contradicted, measuring the girl with unpleasant attention. 'Or rather, not all that he wants. Yet again, you are too hasty in giving him a victory he's on the verge of obtaining, but hasn't obtained just yet.'

Lilinette frowned, admitting to herself that she hated this newly attentive and not dismissive Halibel even more than she hated the ice queen. Even more so because she found herself willing to hope that Halibel might have been right, and that if anyone could help her fend off Schiffer, it would be the Tercera; the realization that she not only needed, but actually wanted the advice was unsettling to her stomach.

'Why do you think Schiffer has allowed you to keep your officer?' Szayel Aporro asked.

'Cuz both me and Grimm made a racket,' Lilinette answered, with a deepening frown.

'I beg to differ,' Szayel responded. 'You may recall that I was in the room, and while both of your speeches took me though a wondrous journey through all the expletives in the language, neither would have convinced dry wood to catch fire, let alone convinced Ulquiorra Schiffer to allow you custody of your officer...'

Lilinette sighed, and felt utterly helpless in a way that she didn't even recognize. She oddly grasped that Szayel Aporro was right, but had no idea where he was leading. She slumped in the chair, and, despite her best intentions, gave the Octava a pleading glance.

'I'm not tracking, dude,' she said. 'Ya talking in doodles, and…maybe Stark would make sense of it,' Lilinette whispered, turning her glance to Halibel. 'But I can't; I'm tired an' I really want to help my guys not to lose their heads. If you wanna help me, which is the only thing that I understand so far, tho' I don't see why, an' frankly, given that it's the two of you, is fucking disturbing, please don't screw with my brain. It's already screwed up enough, 'K?'

Szayel Aporro chuckled unpleasantly.

'She's not come that far yet,' he noted to Halibel; the Tercera nodded once more.

'But she has come some distance,' Halibel answered. 'Lilinette,' she said, in the same disconcerting kind tone. 'You can, and _will_ get this, if only because Stark would.'

The reference had not been intended to be harmful, and Lilinette found that she didn't grudge it. The thing she did grudge was how easily Halibel had grasped that she desperately missed him, now.

'Have more patience for yourself,' Halibel said; somehow, Lilinette imagined, this must have been the tone of voice she talked to Apache on, when no one else was around. 'Because of Stark, but also because of yourself and, amazingly, Grimmjow,' Halibel admitted with a sigh, 'you have come to wield a great measure of political clout.'

'Get outta here,' Lilinette muttered, incredulously shaking her head.

'Szayel has asked you to think, and I have asked you to be patient,' Halibel coldly interrupted. The girl swallowed dry, and took the berating. 'You do not see yourself in terms of political power, because this is not the way in which you think. _Yet._ You will learn this, too, as time passes.'

'I would ask you to distance yourself from Grimmjow's thinking patterns, and look at what you have accomplished from Ichimaru Gin's perspective,' Halibel followed. 'Yourself and Grimmjow have maintained order in a division with no significant governance structure. None of us, myself first and foremost, had expected you were capable of that. Further, you have, for luck and no premeditation, found one of Gin's very few sensitive spots. His personal history and upbringing make him more nostalgic towards Rukongai than anyone else; though he has long steeled himself against unnecessary feelings, some measure of childhood trauma can only be repressed, and not outright eliminated.'

Lilinette nodded, once more swallowing dry. It was true, she thought, feeling like an idiot for not seeing it before. She'd known that Gin came from Rukongai, and she's also known that his childhood had been as miserable as her own. She'd simply not made the connection, though, in hindsight, she suddenly grasped that it may well have tilted Gin's mind in favour of her patrols.

'Damn,' she said, to no one in particular.

'That too you have done well,' Szayel Aporro picked up; his honey filled glance swept over her in such a way that Lilinette felt naked; his grin when she blushed, and suddenly brought her knees tightly together was outright creepy. 'You've managed to create sufficient order to allow New Central to focus on more important business; your collaboration with the 8th is also going smoothly, and you and your division have actually become Sereitei's strongest line of defense against the demons in the human world. Ichimaru Gin has noticed this, and Aizen-sama has certainly noticed this too. The fact that you have been noticed does not escape the Cuarta. However threatening the Primera once was to Ulquiorra Schiffer, and however threatening Stark remains, you have now…_personally_…' Szayel purred, 'become a threat.'

'So now he wants my balls even more than before,' Lilinette winced.

'True,' Halibel shrugged. 'It also implies that you have the ability to defend yourself far better than before. If I may,' she said, allowing Lilinette to prepare for the blow, 'if you would allow yourself to see that you actually, truly exist outside Stark, you would see that.'

Bitch, Lilinette thought.

Halibel must have sensed the unspoken word, and grinned thinly.

'Ulquiorra Schiffer was not scheduled to attend today's meeting,' Halibel continued. 'The Omnitskido was only an observer to tonight's operation – they were not involved in either the planning or the execution of the raid, and it was by Szayel Aporro's courtesy that they were even informed.'

'Again, not tracking,' Lilinette mumbled.

'Indeed,' Szayel Aporro said, leaning back in his chair. 'Tonight's glowing success was due to a combined effort by myself and Halibel; the explosions at the 7th and 9th gave us the final clue we needed to finally be able to track our hapless attackers, and, as usual when lesser minds are involved, the answer was mind-numbingly simple.'

'Go on,' Lilinette said, for once finding herself interested in Szayel's intellectual masturbation.

'Previous attacks had taught us that the explosive itself is made out of two essentially unstable chemical compounds, that catalise on each other,' the Octava said.

'No clue what you just said, dude,' the girl said, cranking her nose.

'Two substances that only make great big boom when they are combined,' Szayel snarled. 'Better?' he bit, making Lilinette nod in great haste. He sighed in exaggerated pain before continuing. 'The explosions at the 7th and 9th were, however, too large in scale to be the result of a single explosive charge, unless one carried the two compounds around in buckets, and even Ulquiorra,' Szayel muttered, with a disgusted grimace, 'would have noticed that. There must, therefore, have been more than one charge, lying in wait to be set off, which only implies that whatever contained the charges must have been designed with the explicit functionality of keeping the individual components separated…'

'So they make boom when they oughta, not randomly,' Lilinette nodded, suddenly catching up.

'Yes,' Halibel answered, before Szayel Aporro could whine about the girl's wording.

'Tracking the chemicals themselves has been exaggeratedly difficult,' Szayel continued. 'Yet, since one must never get stuck within a single algorithm, I considered that where the chemicals might be hard to trace, the containers would be less so, due to the specificity of their design.'

Without taking his eyes off Lilinette, he reached into his pocket and extracted a small glowing vial. He gently placed it on the table, and the girl stood, not refusing to inspect the object.

It almost looked pretty, she thought, picking it up; twin tubes, carefully corked and sealed together by a layer of glass so thin it was almost invisible. It wasn't hard to guess what they'd do. Once the first in the line of explosions took place, its mere blow would be sufficient to break the glass and cause the substances to mix, and another explosion would follow, shattering more glass…

She placed the vials back down in haste, causing Szayel Aporro to stir in concern.

'Sorry,' she said, grasping that she'd perhaps not been as delicate with the object as she should have been. Her apology meant little to Szayel Aporro. 'In any event,' Lilinette prompted, sitting back down.

'In any event,' the Octava unwillingly followed, still looking at her as if he'd been about to stand and give her an academic slap, 'there are few glass makers in either Sereitei or Rukongai with the capability of manufacturing such a delicate device. With the help of Halibel's flawlessly maintained supply data base,' he followed, his voice suddenly so fawning that Lilinette found it hard not to slap her forehead, 'we have been monitoring them all, taking note of their inputs, outputs and especially, customer lists. From there on…'

'From there on, all ya had to do was follow the guys who bought the shit,' the girl tiredly said.

'They led us to the 3rd,' Halibel said, dryly.

There was a moment of silence; the girl considered their words and their story, finding it difficult to refute. She knew enough about both of them to know that they'd be able to pull this off, and while Szayel Aporro was the king and queen of posturing, he rarely postured without a good reason.

'Why didn't y'all tell me?' Lilinette bitterly asked. 'I wouldn't have gotten in your way…If ya had…'

'Sadly, the ability of keeping a secret is not one of the more preeminent qualities you've acquired,' Halibel responded, dryly. 'I shall not even bother speaking Grimmjow's name in that particular context.'

'Ya set us up,' Lilinette softly protested, though she bitterly understood that Halibel was right. Neither of the other Espada bothered to deny her intuition, but neither outright gloated.

'As previously mentioned,' Szayel Aporro shrugged, 'the lead could have taken us anywhere.'

'But then why'd ya have to go and spill the beans to Schiffer?' Lilinette asked, looking down at her hands, and chewing on her rage. 'If he didn't do nothing, he didn't need to be there…'

'It is not as simple as that,' Halibel said, attentively leaning forward. 'It is not only you that has become a threat to Schiffer, lately. He has also made a nuisance of himself to both me and Szayel Aporro, by mongering preposterous accusations. We, too, are growing tired of his insinuations.'

'That's even more fucking reason to keep him away from things!' Lilinette exploded, darting to her feet. 'What the hell, you people!'

'Please maintain your calm,' Halibel hissed, only now seeming on the verge of losing her own patience.

'Precisely because we have been encountering all manners of trouble with the Cuarta,' Szayel said, 'we cannot be seen as deliberately avoiding or sidelining him. After all,' the Octava grinned, 'we would not like to be perceived as if we were the ones entertaining political machinations at a time as important as this.'

Lilinette gritted her teeth.

'We would like to _create_ that impression about Ulquiorra alone,' Halibel ended, calmly knitting her fingers in her lap. 'As you should, by now, understand, the original agenda of the meeting with Ichimaru was nothing that Ulquiorra was looking forward to. It is the crowning moment of several weeks of efforts in which he refused to participate.'

'How much of a heads up did you give him, tho'?' Lilinette asked, narrowing her eye. 'As much as you gave me?'

Both Halibel and Szayel Aporro chuckled lightly and ominously.

'We may have been slightly conservative in estimating the operation's chance of success,' the Tercera innocently said.

'You lied to him,' Lilinette blankly summarized.

She felt little in the way of sympathy towards Schiffer, and, on any other day, she might have even felt happy that he'd been duped; the sudden realization that he'd been deceived made her feel even more uneasy in her present company. She once more swallowed dry, not being able to think of anything else but the fact that if these two had clearly misled Ulquiorra, she had little chance of telling if they intended to play a little trick on her.

'As we said,' Szayel repeated, 'we did nothing of the sort. We simply might have been less than fully optimistic.'

'This does little to change the fact that it was part of the Omnitskido's duty to follow the same leads that we have used,' Halibel coldly said. 'The opportunity of collaboration has been repeatedly offered to the Cuarta on many previous occasions, and he has always refused it. It is only his irrational desire of monopolizing success that has led him here. He is an incompetent unfit for so high a placement in Aizen-sama's court, and _I_,' she said, forgetting to include Szayel Aporro in the statement, and leaning forward so abruptly that her visor slipped, 'have been patient for long enough.'

Lilinette breathed in deeply, finding Halibel's lapse both frightening and reassuring – at least she, the girl thought, seemed to have a personal stake in this. The other…She thought, stealing a glance at Szayel Aporro and noting that he'd barely observed that he was not included in the Tercera's ambitions, didn't seem to care one way or the other.

The Octava caught her glance, and for a split second Lilinette hesitated between sustaining it, and swiftly looking away. She decided for the former, only to cringe when the man gave her one of his shameless smiles – the ones that she could not truly place, but the meaning of which she instinctually understood well enough.

She felt her cheeks were on fire.

'OK,' she said, softly. 'OK.'

'The entire situation is rendered slightly more difficult than we had planned by the fact that whatever else Ulquiorra Schiffer may be, he is neither foolish, nor, I have to say, unlucky.' Szayel Aporro continued, leaning back in his chair. 'The moment that my device functioned, he knew that he had to act fast, or further demonstrate his hopeless lack of instinct; your chatty officer provided him with just such an excuse to divert our meeting with Gin. By arresting him, he created the perfect environment to meaningfully attack both you, and us.'

'Attack, not _defeat_ being the operative word,' Szayel sweetly concluded.

'The reason why Ulquiorra has allowed you to keep custody of your officer is twofold,' Halibel said. 'Firstly, the things that your officer said alluded to the fact that you were not foreign to his sympathies; your rush in putting his family safe will, to a suspicious set of eyes, indicate just that, and, depending on your further mistakes, discredit you utterly. Perhaps even get you personally accused of treason.'

'The adult way of saying he's out for your hypothetical balls.' The Octava helpfully clarified.

'Secondly,' Halibel followed, 'Ulquiorra has let you keep your officer because it gives you a very pressing reason to join the meeting with Ichimaru Gin. Join it, and divert it from its true goal as only yourself and Grimmjow can. The only thing that I further fear now is that Schiffer is using this time to attempt to pull Tousen into the meeting as well,' Halibel said, directing a questioning glance to Szayel Aporro.

The Octava smirked, and shook his head in denial.

'If he is…' Szayel Aporro shrugged, indicating that he had no plan for the eventuality. Halibel nodded thoughtfully. 'If he is, we will have to tread with additional care,' the Octava admitted. Neither seemed pleased by the notion. 'He has even less tolerance for Grimmjow than we do.'

'In short, Lilinette,' Halibel picked up, after a moment of hesitation, 'Schiffer is anticipating that, without any prior preparation, yourself and Grimmjow will undo not only the image benefits that you have managed to accumulate for yourselves, but also the image benefits that we have accrued. I am sure that you are very keen that your officer's welfare will come first on the agenda…'

'Yeah, you bet,' Lilinette muttered. 'Cuz it's not only him, it's also...'

She lowered her forehead.

_It's also another bunch of people that you two most likely don't give a shit about,_ she thought to say.

'_We_ understand,' Szayel Aporro said, smiling so sweetly that Lilinette wondered where one was supposed to punch gay men.

'What do you want?' Lilinette tiredly asked.

'I want you to understand that Schiffer is gambling,' Halibel answered, in the Octava's stead. 'By a twist of fate, it is up to you to either add to his gambling capital, or thoroughly do away with it. Unless you abscond from Gin, and abandon your officer, you cannot help doing one or the other. The fact that you are frightened of Ulquiorra Schiffer, and, perhaps, just perhaps,' the Tercera added, 'of what he might have heard, does not mean that you should show it. Your fear, that is.'

'I ain't scared…' Lilinette began, hotly, only to cut herself off. By Halibel's stern glance, and Szayel Aporro's mocking grin, she could tell that she was fooling neither, and while the temptation of continuing, and telling them that she wouldn't have been scared of Schiffer on any other fucking hour of any other fucking day, she did not. Because, now, as things stood, she was not only frightened. She was outright terrified.

'Our upcoming conversation is not about doing what is correct,' Halibel followed, after a moment of pause. 'Even if the philosophical concept of truth were a stone, ramming it down somebody's throat does not guarantee that it will be assimilated.'

'…the hell's that supposed to mean?' Lilinette muttered.

'That you, and us, have great chances of emerging the victors from Ulquiorra's gamble, only if you manage to behave…not quite like yourself,' Halibel smirked. 'In Ichimaru's presence, at least. In fact, our best chances would be if you said nothing at all.'

'In ya dreams,' Lilinette spat, growing furious and all but jumping out of her chair.

'Normally, I would advocate that she allow the morning to progress as scheduled, and not show up at all,' Szayel added.

Lilinette felt as if she hadn't even been in the room.

'Not truly,' Halibel said, in an unexpectedly conciliatory tone, but managing no more than to heighten Lilinette's sensation. 'Her reputation will serve us well, and Ichimaru likes her far more than he does Ulquiorra.' The Tercera added, in Szayel Aporro's direction. 'Besides, I should not like her to miss out on the learning opportunity.'

Szayel Aporro cringed.

'I think this is rather too important a moment, Halibel…' he said, for once in his life not purring.

'Which is precisely why it is a great learning opportunity,' the Tercera smoothly responded. 'I shall have Sun-Sun in attendance as well.'

_Not Apache_, Lilinette thought, with a minor twinge. She looked to Halibel, hoping against hope that the Tercera would sit less stiffly, or that her visor would reveal anything but her narrowed green eyes – that Halibel would let herself be read. It was not the case.

'It's not only Schiffer that freaks me out,' Lilinette whispered. 'At the moment, I'm thinking you're freaking me out more.'

She slumped in the chair, crossing her legs and resting her elbow on her knee, unknowingly imitating Stark's habitual listening pose.

'Ok,' she said, after a deep breath, and not guessing why Halibel's glance had warmed. 'OK. What do ya want me to do?'

The Tercera searchingly gazed at her for a moment, as if trying to assess that the surrender was genuine, but whether she thought it was or not, she seemed aware that she was running out of time. She further stiffened her shoulders.

'The more you press the subject of your officer, the more attention it will be given.' She said.

'Trust me,' Szayel Aporro added, 'I was there, and I heard exactly what he said. That is the very last thing you want.' He menacingly pressed.

Lilinette looked away, trying to keep her features straight.

'Let Schiffer get on with his planned show,' Halibel continued. 'Do not let him rattle your temper, do not interrupt him, and allow Gin to grow frustrated and bored – listening to Ulquiorra's voice for an hour is, to Ichimaru…slightly less pleasant than a hammer to the testicles,' she suddenly chuckled, making Lilinette's eye grow wide in shock. 'I too have an inner Grimmjow,' Halibel said. 'It is just that there is a time and a place for everything, and this will _not_ be his time and place.'

'Ok,' Lilinette nodded again.

'If you can somehow channel Stark and appear bored out of your wits as well, it will definitely help.' The Tercera followed. 'Schiffer will recount the night as only he can…'

'No penchant for drama,' Szayel pitifully sighed.

'Indeed,' Halibel shrugged. 'Chronological order, from the very beginning of days up until the present; we have already told you everything that you need to know about how the situation came about. There will be nothing new, and nothing surprising – in short, nothing that you should react to. He will end his account with your officer's arrest. He will bring this up last, as he will like to make it the culmination of the encounter, and the natural subject to be followed. He will think that he has built up some expectation. In fact, if you refrain yourself, Ichimaru Gin will be half asleep.'

Lilinette mulled over the words, finding the logic correct, but naturally repulsive.

_Fuck that_, Grimmjow cursed, in the back of her mind. Yet, unlike few times in her living memory, she pushed the reaction away and forced herself to listen through.

'If what you say is true, tho'' she uncertainly began, looking to Szayel Aporro, 'what Takeshi said is gonna catch Gin's ear soon enough.'

'It may,' Szayel Aporro conceded, gracefully leaning forward, and giving Lilinette such a seductive gaze that the girl wanted no more than to melt into the back of the chair. 'However, this is the point in Schiffer's story when…_along comes a spider_.'

In high contrast to the insane grin which the Octava hid behind his knitted fingers, his golden eyes were empty and fixed.

'I was also there, and heard all that Takeshi Enryuu said. Where Schiffer will state that he has heard treachery, I will state that I have heard nothing but an ill-conceived attempt at negotiation, which, by sheer nature, must be ambivalent. I will further state that your officer seemed too frightened to draw; of course, who could blame him? He could hardly know that my genius was working in his favour…In short,' Szayel Aporro said, 'I will go through your officer's statements, word by word, using Ulquiorra's pathological exactitude against him. I shall merely impress upon them a different theatrical spin, which places Takeshi's loyalties squarely where they should be…'

'So ya planning to _lie_ to Gin's face?' Lilinette breathed, all of her senses screaming in alarm.

'Am I, now?' Szayel Aporro flatly returned – and indeed, the girl thought, feeling paralyzed by the precision of the question, the acid malice in the Octava's stare and the thinly laid trap she'd just stepped into, there were no better words to describe him than _along comes a spider._ She breathed in and out, feeling physically ill, and knowing the little pink bastard had just led her to admit that Schiffer was not wrong, or at least that she shared his suspicions and wished to protect Takeshi regardless.

'Fuck,' she whispered, clenching her fists, and expecting that the look in Halibel's eyes would suddenly change to mirror Szayel Aporro's wicked triumph; it did not. The Tercera did not even flinch.

_She knows_, Lilinette dazedly thought. _She knows the same things Schiffer does, and who knows what else…_

'And that,' Szayel Aporro said, not taking his eyes off Lilinette, 'is practical, point demonstration of why you should be very, _very_, quiet.'

The words did not truly register.

_They both know, but they are not choosing to pursue it. Why?_

What target, what prize, Lilinette thought as her emotions ground to a halt, and Stark's sense of vision took over her own, could possibly have been important enough for Halibel to chance this? What could possibly be big enough to make Halibel not immediately pour poison and suspicion into Ichimaru's or Aizen's ear as soon as she had them?

_You know what it is_, Stark said. _You know what Ulquiorra has and what Halibel wants. Not only influence, now. She has indeed been waiting for very long, and now, she is finally ready for tangible power._

'The Omnitskido,' Lilinette uttered out loud, in a voice she barely recognized as her own. 'That's what you are after, aren't you, Halibel.'

The Tercera laughed, the sound sending freezing chills down Lilinette's spine.

'The only reason why you would help me is because you have more to gain from showing up Schiffer than from showing me up.' Lilinette followed, standing away from her chair, with the speed of a lightning bolt; she then said the words that must have been lingering on whatever passed for Halibel's lips. 'For the moment.'

'My, my, angel…' the Tercera said. 'I am pleased to see how intuitive you've grown.'

'I wonder how you don't see that if Gin and Aizen-sama find out about this little side-deal, down the line, you're gonna be in as deep shit as I am,' Lilinette hissed; all her blood had turned to boiling acid. She felt that her skin was beginning to heat up, a tell-tale sign that outwardly, her contours must have been blurring threateningly. She felt Halibel's reiatsu on the verges of her own, but was too furious to note that she was actually keeping the Tercera at bay. 'Why would I trust you, either of you, when I know that my head may be next?'

'You don't need to trust us,' Halibel shrugged. 'I was, however, under the distinct impression that you wanted your officer…Takeshi, was it? and his lovely family…to survive it all. Was I mistaken? Should you decide to demonstrate your loyalty towards New Central in a different way, you are most welcome to do so. In that case, none would be prouder than I; I would even understand if you chose to go to the Cuarta and warn him of our intentions. I am sure he will believe you, _Primera_.'

'Bitch,' Lilinette said, this time out loud. The word seemed to phase Szayel Aporro more than it did Halibel. 'You're blackmailing me.'

Halibel shifted in her chair, and, still untouched by either words or reiatsu, she permissively smiled.

'No,' she answered, finally relaxing her shoulders; her utter lack of reaction to either the insult or the accusation grated at Lilinette's heart. 'The one thing that I can promise you, however, is that once I am in charge of the Omnitskido, I will closely watch you and the 3rd to make sure that there is no further reason for…'

'…_ambivalence_,' Szayel helpfully completed.

Lilinette clenched her jaws and felt as if she'd been breathing fire but sweating ice, nothing but helpless and furious at herself, and everything around her. Halibel simply looked on, not changing her expression when the girl finally met her glance. She took Lilinette's agreement for granted.

'Now, since we understand each other…' the Tercera said, dismissing the past minute as if it had never come to pass. 'We shan't be late to seeing Ichimaru. The only thing that I would want you to carefully consider between now and then is whether, after all you've learned, you truly want Grimmjow in attendance.'

_Yeah_, Lilinette dully thought. _I'll really have to think about that._

* * *

__Up next - Not the end of Szayel. Ulquiorra might be in trouble, though.


	60. Along Comes a Spider

Good evening, and thanks for reading and commenting! this has been a long and political one :) I guess Ulquiorra watched out for all the wrong folks...or that his famous eye had a very dangerous blind angle...

In chapter 60 - Where we learn it's not the one with the gigantic anger or violence issues we need to look out for most of the time. The quiet background ones are just as dangerous; Szayel Aporro, well..._creeps_ to mind.

* * *

_I never say what I believe, nor do I ever believe what I say; and if sometimes I do happen to tell the truth, it is hidden among so many lies that no one can find it._

_-Niccolo Machiavelli_

* * *

Lilinette felt as if her jaws had been literally sown together with iron, or that, at the very least, her muscles had transformed into the metal over the course of the past hour…hours? Lilinette helplessly wondered. Her grasp at the passage of time had faded, as had all other bearings of a world that she'd previously stubbornly held a simple and straightforward.

The only thing that was still simple and certain was that she'd pissed Grimm off to no end by keeping him out of this bloody meeting; on her way to the 3rd Division's headquarters, she'd scripted many ways in which she could possibly tell him that she was convinced his presence in Gin's office would hurt rather than help. Some of them, like – _It ain't your scene, dude, an' ya know it_ – might even have been smart.

It was only that once she'd laid eyes on the pile of indistinguishable wood which had once been the furniture of Grimm's office, the absolutely wrong words had come out all in one, and the speech she'd prepared over how it would all be a loss anyway, and over how Grimm didn't need to take a hammer to his balls and actually watch the disaster had completely vanished from her mind.

_Halibel says ya can't come_, Lilinette had said instead of anything else; she'd then used Sonido to quickly shift out of the way of the entire pile of wood had been kicked her way. In truth, the fact that the pile of wood had scattered in all directions had been the only good to come out of that conversation starter. Everything else had gone downhill from there.

She'd slipped horribly by saying Halibel's name, which was the one thing she'd promised over and over that she wouldn't mention – and that, she'd thought, should not even have been hard to keep under wraps. All in all, Lilinette herself would have loved to forget about the Tercera's involvement as well, yet the mere mention of her name had sent Grimm into such a fit of rage that any further reasoning had been impossible.

She hadn't paid too much attention to what Grimmjow had said when she'd told him that weird shit that she didn't have time to explain now was going down; he might have responded with that he'd never fucking imagined that Lili's growing up would involve her turning into Halibel's minion, no matter what the situation, and he'd definitely said that he was sick and tired of people thinking he didn't get shit. That if Lilinette thought she could get him to do things he didn't wanna do, then she too had another thing coming, like Halibel, and fucking Tousen and Ichimaru, and even hell itself for that matter.

Lilinette had held steadfast, though, and managed to keep herself out of the way of both Grimm's words, and the stuff he occasionally kicked in her direction, because, throughout, she'd only been aware of two things – that Grimmjow was, for the first time in a long time, pissed at himself, and that her time before the meeting with Gin was running out. The fact that she, who'd never even considered the meaning of the word punctual, had placed being on time at Halibel's orders on the same step as the fact that the past eight hours had forced her friend to brutally face the limitations he'd placed on himself was, in itself, seriously fucked up.

The only excuse she'd found was that she wasn't doing it on purpose.

She wanted to draw a deep breath; Ulquiorra's account of whatever had gone on last night had reached the monitoring of the glass containers, and, outside Gin's window, several seasons had changed. Halibel and Tousen were statues; Sun-Sun, a statue's shadow. Ichimaru Gin was fidgeting like a six year old in church.

Beyond it all, having seated himself in the darkest corner of the room, Szayel Aporro registered it all from behind his thick glasses, present and attentive…

Watching, Lilinette thought, with a shudder. Spinning…

She didn't take the deep breath.

It had taken a while for Grimmjow to stop cursing and kicking stuff. By the fact that her own throat was rather raw, Lilinette had guessed she'd attempted to shout over him at some point, and that she'd insisted in that pointless endeavor for quite a bit. He'd gotten tired about the same time she had.

_I know ya hate waiting, Grimm._

_He'd simply breathed out and looked away in disgust._

_I hate this crap, he'd answered. I hate you getting involved with it._

Maybe he hated the fact that perhaps he knew that he could have gotten involved as well, but didn't really want to, even more. That maybe, in the back of his mind, he knew he could have controlled his temper for three hours, but that he didn't want to try. Maybe he guessed Lilinette thought less of him because of that, and the fact that he cared enough to think about it pissed him off. Lilinette didn't know, and didn't have time to guess.

_We can't be ripping all of their faces, Grimm. If ya don't let me do this, then Schiffer…_

_Oh would ya gimme a break, kiddo! _he'd growled_. Like with or without ya, Halibel and the ass-monkey have any guarantee that they're gonna beat ol'batty at his own game._

_I don't fucking know that, _Lilinette had muttered_. But would ya rather let them go in there alone? Who knows how they gonna turn it…_

_Yeh, _Grimmjow had answered_, _without hesitation_. I ain't a spinner and you ain't a spinner, an' for my part, if spinning's what it takes to win, we oughta keep well out of it, Lilinette. Cuz then, however they turn it, at least our nose gonna be clean. _

_An' Takeshi's still gonna be dead._

He'd roared, blowing out the window. It had been the only bit of Gin's office still left intact. Lilinette had had to protect her face with her forearms and lodge her heels in the floor not to be blown away in her turn, but Grimm had kept roaring, taking out whatever was left of the door too – and when he'd finally spent all of his rage, the office had been swept clean of everything but the two of them, and the weight of things neither knew how to deal with, or even talk about.

_Fuck off,_ he'd said, then walked away through the last bit of intact wall.

Lilinette pressed her hands together, trying as hard as she could to focus on the present.

'I am not convinced that the nature of this particular statement warranted your actions, Cuarta.' Kaname Tousen said, letting her know she'd already missed something. Ichimaru Gin, who looked as if he'd been about to start chewing on his desk looked up and leaned forward.

At the center of the room, Ulquiorra turned his chin stiffly, but kept his shoulders straight, leaving the odd visual impression that his head was independent from the rest of his body and could have spun all the way around.

'My accusations towards 4th seat Takeshi Enryuu do not solely stem from this initial affirmation, Ichimaru-sama,' he said.

'That is not yet under discussion. The fact remains,' Tousen impatiently continued, 'that several demon gates have manifested since the early hours of the morning. Your actions at the 3rd Division have delayed scheduled sweeps, and, given the heightened activity, I am entirely unconvinced that one man's hesitation to draw on his former companions represents sufficient grounds to utterly disrupt 3rd Division's activity.'

'I entirely agree, Tousen-sama,' Szayel Aporro merrily said.

'Somehow, I am not surprised by that, Octava,' Halibel stingily said; the cold and insinuating tone of her voice surprised Lilinette, and caused Tousen to frown deeply, as if Halibel had just insulted him with something Lilinette herself could not quite place. 'My apologies, Tousen-sama,' the Tercera added, in a far more considerate tone. 'I simply meant to imply that Szayel Aporro, who was at the scene of the events, may have already formed his opinion. I, on the other hand, disapprove of hasty judgments and would appreciate the opportunity of deciding on my own, after the Cuarta has finished his report.'

'Yeh,' Gin agreed, with notable lack of enthusiasm.

Lilinette straightened, and once more attempted to focus – she got the feeling that something weird was up, something that hadn't truly been planned on. If anything, she'd expected that Halibel and Szayel Aporro would front together, but the Tercera had just bit his ass, and far from making Tousen, who was the only un-scripted guy in the room feel comfortable, she'd just visibly annoyed him too.

The even stranger thing was that while Tousen now seemed pissed, Szayel Aporro's expression hadn't changed in the slightest.

Or well, Lilinette admitted, he too was beginning to look slightly bored, just as Ulquiorra finally got to the interesting part. The bit that she'd been looking forward to, and dreading at the same time.

She had been burning to know what Takeshi had actually said, if for nothing else, then because hearing the truth would have ended the painful limbo in her own heart; on the background of everything else, Lilinette felt as if she'd spent the past few hours on a playground rocker, which continuously swung up, then down, without a second's notice. On the one hand, she fancied she knew this guy, and when she thought of that, her heart warmed, and she felt confident that she hadn't been betrayed. After all, Takeshi hardly seemed like a guy who could feign friendship; he was certainly hot tempered enough to have a go at Grimm once in a while, and, after all she'd seen of her officer, he was not cold blooded enough to use his family in any sort of confidence building ploy.

Was he? Lilinette thought, as the rocker swung down.

She really could not know for sure. She could have been wrong about him just as she had been wrong about Ukitake Hayoto, who was the greatest asshole in history, but certainly hadn't looked like the kind of asshole who'd try to blow up someone who'd saved his life. The operative word being someone, Lilinette thought, already knowing that to most of them, she was not really someone. She was still something.

It felt strange that the fact that she didn't want Takeshi to be hurt, regardless of whether her heart swung up or down, remained the rocker's balance point.

For once in her life, Lilinette felt grateful for Ulquiorra's even tone, for entirely different reasons than that it was annoying Ichimaru; hearing Szayel Aporro deliver the same account with added theatrics might well have swung her heart out of balance. Without bothering to hide her interest, she held her breath, leaned forward and listened, prepared to hear how the months Takeshi had spent under her command had been nothing but humiliation and pretence, expecting that whatever he'd said would break her heart, but already knowing it would not change her mind.

As Ulquiorra took her through the exchange he'd listened to, Lilinette heard nothing of the sort. In fact, she heard the exact opposite, finding that the Cuarta's voice simply described a man she knew, exactly how she'd thought she knew him – someone who respected the uniforms before him just as much as he respected the desk she sat behind, and had never made a secret of it. Someone who was too hot blooded to not point others in the right direction whether he was facing people with explosives, or simply getting in the way of Grimm, when he was about to explode…

Someone, she thought, as the rocker unexpectedly jolted up, who'd also noticed the subterfuges she'd committed, and grasped that they were half done on his behalf, and who, above all shared her stupid, gut inspired belief that the battles they'd waged hadn't been useless.

Crap.

Someone who was even more worth saving after he'd betrayed himself in a desperate attempt at not betraying anyone else.

'…I'd prefer that Szayel Aporro explained this particular segment, Cuarta,' Halibel said.

What segment…?

Lilinette caught herself fidgeting. The room had simply glazed over the subject that absorbed her.

'I hardly believe that the amount of detail that the Octava customarily provides is appropriate for this level of discussion,' Ulquiorra responded.

'From my perspective, mate,' Gin sighed, 'I'm gonna get the detail whether I want to or not. Frankly,' the 1st Division lieutenant sighed, 'I'd much rather get it over with Szayel Aporro, ya know, orally,' he followed, with a wide, self congratulatory grin at the pun, 'than in writing.'

'A written report must, nonetheless, be filed,' Tousen dryly put in, making Gin's brief amusement fade.

'Yeh, Tousen-san,' Ichimaru muttered. 'The question's still gonna be if I wanna read it or not…An' don't ya look at me like that, Schiffer, ya ain't seen what reports from the 12th look like – there ain't nuthin' comin' outta there that's less than a hundred pages…'

Utterly insensitive to Ichimaru's plight, Ulquiorra blinked.

'The functionality of the Octava's device is far more important than its functional make-up,' he dryly stated. 'I have already stated that the mechanism is fit for purpose, thus see no further need for detail.'

'An odd characteristic for one who heads the Omnitskido,' Szayel Aporro purred, pushing his mask upwards on his nose. 'If anything, I should think that detail would be your foremost concern, Cuarta.'

Gin smirked.

'Go on, Szayel Aporro.' He said, turning towards the Octava, and pointedly ignoring Ulquiorra. 'How's this thing working?'

Szayel Aporro smiled thinly, visibly repressing some sort of stinging remark about the fact that the device which he probably thought of as his greatest creation yet had been referred to as a thing. 'In short,' he began, 'as not to challenge the Cuarta's impatience with detail, the device is based upon the same principle as the common Caja Negacion…'

'He-he!' Gin chuckled. 'Yeah, that oughta make it simple for ya, Schiffer…'

'It is designed to become active once a certain pattern of energy is detected,' Szayel continued, nonetheless rewarding Gin's irony with a playful smile. 'The original Caja Negacion was created to react to the vibration of reiatsu inside a Hollow hole. This one has simply been re-attuned to the wavelength and amplitude of the kido shockwave observed at the 7th and 9th. Once active, it replicates the functionality of the original, and absorbs the energy, transporting it into…lands that the Cuarta is more familiar with than I.'

Yet again, Ulquiorra did not budge; for some reason, the sight of his straight, seemingly frail figure standing at the center of the room made Lilinette's stomach turn.

At this point, she thought, forgetting to hate or fear her ancient enemy, if either herself or Grimmjow had found themselves at the center of such pointed and pointless sniping, Szayel would have been swallowing his teeth.

'That's cool,' Gin exclaimed, rubbing his hands. 'Tho',' he added, frowning and scratching the top of his head, 'ol'Ulquiorra did get out of the Caja Negacion – should we be considerin' that, I dunno, this thing's gonna leak?'

Szayel Aporro nervously extended his fingers, then dug his nails into the armchair's hand rest.

'It is not a question of leakage,' he said. 'The Cuarta escaped the Caja Negacion because it had not been tailored to his specific reiatsu, and because he is sentient. He willed himself out; this cannot be true about a kido shockwave.'

'Just like a Caja Negacion,' the Octava followed, after Gin's nod, 'the device is portable by virtue of its dimensions, and perfectly safe for all other energy patterns but the one it has been programmed to recognize. It requires no outside power source, and can lay dormant in whatever location until it is set off…'

'Are you implying that this device does not need to be manned or even supervised?' Tousen asked.

'Indeed so,' Szayel nodded. 'It will always activate on its own, over a controlled radius, and…'

'It then represents the perfect countermeasure to the resistance activities,' Tousen blankly interrupted; the usage of the word perfect made Szayel slink back in orgasmic pleasure – Lilinette had the odd feeling that Tousen had intended just that, but cringed and decided not to spare the feeling even a passing thought. 'How soon can it be multiplied?'

'It already has been,' the Octava responded. 'The 12th Division has already devised an optimal placement grid across Sereitei, and,' he added, with a small bow in Halibel's direction, 'New Central supplies is already endeavoring to the placement via its regular logistics.'

'If I didn't know ya'd take it the wrong way, I'd kiss ya right now,' Gin beamed. 'Aizen-sama's gonna be as pleased as punch.'

'We are honoured to serve,' Sun-Sun answered, with a brief bow; Halibel warmly looked over her shoulder, and nodded.

'Good, well, then,' Ichimaru said, standing and stretching, with the look of a kid who had heard a school bell and was about to bolt out of class, 'we're done – good work, y'all…'

No one else shared his enthusiasm.

'I shall surmise this as implicit approval for the further investigation of 3rd Division 4th seat Takeshi Enryuu, as well as the implementation of punitive measures at the Omnitskido's discretion…' Ulquiorra began.

'Who?' Halibel inquired, leaning forward; her visor moved just slightly upwards, as did her uniform top. Ichimaru was briefly distracted.

Use what you are given, Lilinette thought, wondering if Uki had actually meant…this.

'The sweetly inept young man we'd mentioned earlier,' Szayel Aporro said. 'The one that you wished to form your own opinion about, Halibel?' he prompted, in a voice that was filled with naught but polite solicitude.

Ichimaru Gin looked lost.

'Well, I ain't here to be fucking decorative,' Lilinette burst.

'Not that you are,' Sun-Sun hissed.

'The Cuarta Espada added a second point to today's agenda,' Tousen dully reminded. 'Reading the agenda points before a meeting is often…'

'Tousen-saaan,' Ichimaru plaintively uttered, falling back to his chair. 'Read this, read that…' he sighed. He rubbed his eyes, and picked up a piece of paper that stood on top of a one foot tall stack, then read it slowly, with his hand stretched over his face as if he'd been about to hide behind his fingers. 'So,' he concluded, at the end of an eternity during which Lilinette's heart stopped beating. 'Ya wanna kill this guy an' decimate the 3rd.'

'Partially incorrect,' Ulquiorra said. 'Thorough interrogation, and a large scale investigation of the 3rd Division as a whole will precede any punitive measures.'

'I expect the shadow command of the 3rd will wish to dispute this,' Tousen said.

Lilinette hated, hated, hated the way in which Tousen spoke – always into thin air, never turning towards the person he was speaking to.

'Duh,' she responded, feeling her heart was beating in her stomach.

'Predictable,' Halibel said, giving Lilinette a glance that warned she was already speaking too much. 'I see no reason why not to investigate,' the Tercera shrugged, leaning back. 'It was, after all childish of the 3rd not to screen its newly recruited members.'

'True,' Szayel Aporro agreed. 'I would also stand in support of an investigation of that particular issue.'

For as long as he'd spoken, his lifeless golden eyes had not left Lilinette's; she felt the urge of jumping out of the chair and hitting him, hitting him so hard that no one would ever have to wonder where his Hollow hole was, then ripping Halibel's throat open and ramming Schiffer's helmet down Tousen's throat, before running, running to Stark…

She clenched her teeth and her hands in her lap, lowering her glance and doing exactly the opposite of what she felt like doing; she'd withdrawn just in time, for, crawling on the invisible lines of its net, along came a spider.

'I was unaware that Takeshi Enryuu was the recruitment officer,' Szayel Aporro said. 'Be that as it may, I have nothing against an investigation at the 3rd' he smoothly repeated, waving his own remark away. 'Which Division has been scheduled to replace them, as the Omnitskido investigates?'

'Excuse me?' Ulquiorra asked.

'Which Division have you scheduled to replace them on patrol in the human world?' Szayel asked, impatiently tapping his well heeled foot. 'We – the 12th and New Central supplies - will need to deliver the cross world travelling devices to their quarters.'

'I assume you were not planning to have a Division which is under investigation providing Sereitei with its front line defences, Ulquiorra Schiffer,' Tousen said.

The Cuarta paused.

'I am unaware of another Division whose effective is large enough to replace the 3rd at this time.' he responded, with dull honesty. 'As such, I...'

Halibel shook her head, and although he was not looking her way, Ulquiorra fell silent, his dark lips no more than a thin, impossibly straight line.

The silence stretched, and, in its depth, the girl slowly recognised that Ulquiorra was standing at a crossroad, living that perfect, painful split instant in which one had to decide whether to withdraw to safe quarters and accept a small defeat, or brave darkness which sheltered and sharpened enemy blades in an attempt at complete victory.

Lilinette understood all too well that Ulquiorra could have accepted the mid-way, like an adult, and agreed to a restricted scope investigation, which would address the failures in the 3rd Division's recruitment process. The veiled offer had already been made.

Yet, the girl guessed, that meant little. A small delay, and the 3rd's next raid into the human world would assure that the matter lost urgency; Szayel Aporro had already stated that Takeshi was not responsible for recruitment, and placed the officer outside of Ulquiorra's remit, and then...Then, Ulquiorra would have obtained the permission to investigate the background of the newcomers, whom, Lilinette supposed, would use the small delay to make themselves scarce, if they knew themselves suspicious. He would get nothing of what he wanted, take a hit to his pride, but not risk further danger.

If Stark had been in Ulquiorra's shoes now, Lilinette thought, he'd have thought this was the perfect time for a nap.

She felt unexplainably dirty, and unexplainably sad, for one she'd hated and feared though all of her existence; alone, in the circle of his enemies, Ulquiorra Schiffer decided to attack and fall, proving that irony was indeed the driving force of the universe and that he, the Vasto Lorde before the Cuarta, had always been less similar to Stark than to Lilinette herself.

'Such limitations to the Omnitskido's remit are unacceptable,' Ulquiorra said, raising his glance to Gin's. 'It has long been our belief that the 3rd Division, its officers, and even its shadow command,' he continued, as Gin threw an alarmed glance to the side at Tousen, 'have at least been tolerant to resistance elements in Rukongai.'

'Wha'?' Gin exclaimed, shifting his glance to Lilinette. She knew she should have shrugged, or smirked, or at least arched an eyebrow – she could not. At first, because she was frozen in terror. A second later, because, in utter shock, she read that Gin had only looked to her seeking confirmation for what he perceived as the Cuarta's insanity.

'It is also my personal suspicion that both Grimmjow and Lilinette have harboured this attitude, and that Lilinette herself has actively obstructed the Omnitskido's investigative activities at least once.'

'And you are only reporting this now, because...' Halibel prompted, inching forward in interest.

'Because until now all evidence that I might have held against them would have been circumstantial, Tercera.' Ulquiorra answered. 'Now, I consider myself in possession of what is tantamount to a full confession to treason, which constitutes a perfect starting point for further investigation.'

'I am unsure...' Szayel Aporro began, with a small frown.

'Let him finish,' Halibel coldly interrupted. 'I, for one, am very interested in what he has to say.' She added, looking at Lilinette, and once more being terrifyingly unreadable.

It was not unlikely, the girl thought with sudden clarity, that Halibel was considering taking out two enemies in one; after all, while Szayel Aporro, for however disturbing it might all have been, was acting according to script. Halibel was not – or rather, her behaviour was disconcertingly ambivalent, as if, from one second to the next, she were still deciding whether to go for Schiffer, or Lilinette, or possibly both.

'Takeshi Enryuu has given me three crucial pieces of information,' Ulquiorra followed. 'Firstly, he made no secret of his lack of support for New Central by refusing to draw and reveal the attackers; he alluded to support or tolerance of the Rukongai pressure groups, speaking to the attackers by using clear and obviously mutually understood common references. In addition, he told them to attack the confiscated zanpakutoh warehouses, not only revealing their location, but openly goading them to arm themselves and their groups.'

'His attitude and mannerisms were not those of a person who had previously hidden or repressed his feelings,' Ulquiorra followed, slowly turning his face towards Lilinette. 'He also seemed to imply that if the attackers renounced their intent and surrendered, the Sexta Espada would allow them to return to Rukongai unharmed, and rejoin the resistance groups there. 3rd Division 4th seat Takeshi Enryuu showed no concern that his shadow command would investigate or pursue the matter further. I believe, Ichimaru-sama, that Takeshi Enryuu felt safe in that his blatant lack of loyalty towards New Central would not be punished.'

'Further, as I have previously reported to Tousen-sama,' the Cuarta continued, 'the actions of the 3rd Division shadow command in the wake of this incident have showed neither concern for New Central, nor deference to the authority of the Omnitskido. Their primary concern, was, in fact, quite to the opposite, and both Lilinette and Grimmjow have made allowing delaying the punishment of the transgression their first and foremost priority.'

He fell silent, and Lilinette noticed that the room had become cold, so cold that she wondered why she could not see her breath coming out in hot vapour. Ichimaru's mouth had straightened, while Tousen had yet to budge, yet it was Halibel's still frozen, unreadable stare to utterly frighten Lilinette.

She swallowed dry, feeling that her hands were shaking – unlike the fear she felt in battle, this feeling, the feeling of being utterly helpless, turned her soul into lead. What could she say? She wondered, growing smaller in her chair. Was a response even wanted...How Ulquiorra had learned this much, she could not have guessed, but he had somehow learned much, too much, leaving her to wonder whether he would mention Ukitake Hayoto by name in his next sentence.

'I believe, therefore, that a limitation of the Omnitskido's remit to the unsupervised recruitment would be a wrongful measure, and a serious oversight.' Ulquiorra ended, once more turning his glance away from Lilinette, and looking to Gin.

'Let me get this straight,' Ichimaru said; his voice too was cold, and unusually toneless. 'ya're saying that the entire 3rd...'

'This is irrational,' Szayel Aporro sighed, resting his forehead in his folded fingers. 'I was witness to this conversation, and...'

'Your opinion on this subject is irrelevant to me, Octava,' Ulquiorra said.

'Yeh,' Gin said, suddenly baring his teeth. 'Maybe his is. But I was under the impression that ya wanted to have mine. Or is my opinion irrelevant too? Ulquiorra?'

The Cuarta's pupils dilated, filling the whites of his eyes. Still invisible to all, Lilinette swallowed dry, and sought Halibel's glance without encountering it. The Tercera had leaned back in her chair.

'I do not understand, Ichimaru-sama,' the Cuarta said – and for a moment, Lilinette didn't understand either; she looked about the room, thinking that Ulquiorra's words had been heavy, and that, if anything, they should have swiftly turned the room against her. Yet...Beyond herself, she understood that Ulquiorra's words had gone too far and been too heavy – that Ichimaru and Tousen did not believe him, not because he'd failed in logic, but because they could not afford to believe him.

_Because the 3rd was indeed needed._

_Because they would rather think of anything but of what they might do without her, now..._

She once more looked to Halibel, finding her glance, and feeling her heart jump when she knew that underneath her visor, the Tercera was smiling.

'I should think that Aizen-sama should, at the very least...' Ulquiorra began, remembering the words were ill-chosen a split moment too late.

'While I should think I wanna hear what Szayel Aporro wants ta say,' Gin snarled, in return.

Halibel nodded, for Lilinette alone.

_Because this was political clout._

'Oh, please,' Szayel Aporro sighed, from the very depth of his seemingly broken heart. 'I am bored.' He whimpered.

'What you are is disrespectful,' Tousen snappily put in.

'I apologise, Tousen-sama,' the Octava muttered, in a far less fawning tone than usual. 'I would just like to point out that we have spent the better part of the morning debating Ulquiorra's suspicions and...other...allegations...'

'Are you accusing me of lying?' Ulquiorra asked, snappily turning towards the Octava.

'No,' Szayel Aporro said, slowly, letting the pause stretch meaningfully. 'I am just less confident in your ability of reading emotions and...mannerisms...than you yourself seem to be.'

He stood, and, because of the window behind him, his long shadow stretched over the Cuarta long before Szayel Aporro had come to stand beside him, reminding Lilinette at how tall the scientist actually was, especially in comparison to Schiffer, and in a situation where reiatsu didn't matter.

The two measured each other for a moment, as Szayel gracefully insinuated himself by, taking over the centre of the room. Ulquiorra did not move to stop him, and did not look towards Gin; his green eyes remained fixated upon the Octava, narrowed in...disbelief? Lilinette thought, having to fight the feeling from showing on her features as well.

'I would like to simply point out,' Szayel Aporro said, looking to Gin as he clenched his hands behind his back, 'that while the Cuarta's rendition of the conversation is perfect in every detail, and, that of course, I am assured he would never willingly try to misinterpret what he heard for the mere change of having a dig at...'

He looked at Lilinette and smiled, in the way that made her skin crawl, letting his theatrical silence speak louder than his words. Ulquiorra clenched his teeth.

'I would, then, like to point out that what the Cuarta heard was simply not what was said,' Szayel Aporro continued; he lied as naturally as he breathed.

Lilinette blocked the exact wording of the rest of his speech out; she was only left with the essence of it, and deep, grudging bewilderment at how a simple change of angle could alter a story. Szayel Aporro's interpretation was as perfectly compelling as it was false, and she knew it, she knew it, yet could not stop herself from feeling fear and fascination at the same time. As the words flowed, smoothly, sweetly, and the webbing of lies grew thick and logically inescapable, amid a few carefully placed truths.

For as long as Szayel Aporro spoke, Ulquiorra simply gazed ahead, through Gin, and possibly through the wall behind him; his features remained perfectly still as, one after the other, the implications he'd guessed in Takeshi's words were explained away, without rush and with perfectly appropriate emotion. According to Szayel Aporro, Takeshi Enryuu had done little but truly attempt to stop the attack, and negotiated as best he could under the circumstance; he'd been intelligent to bluff with knowledge of Rukongai, and he'd been nervous, but then, anyone would have been, when faced with six lunatics who were ready to die challenging the new order. In that context, the Octava had naturally followed, even the lapse regarding the zanpakutoh warehouses could be disregarded, and, in truth, it would be folly to assume that the attackers could not have gained the knowledge by other means, sooner or later – the 3rd Division, as a whole, must have known that the warehouses were on their premises.

Of course, the Octava had agreed, Takeshi Enryuu had not made a fanatical display of loyalty towards New Central. Yet, he'd made what could be described as an endearing, and, under the circumstances, foolish show of faith towards his shadow commanders, who were, in the end, part of New Central, and thus...And thus, all that Ulquiorra had read had been no more than unconscious misinterpretation of facts, based on inherent paranoia, and previous unfundamented suspicions that the Cuarta had even admitted to.

'Or...' Szayel had smiled.

Or other, deeper and perhaps not even subconscious predispositions against the Primera and Sexta, which Szayel did not need to insist upon; they were already known to all in the room, and that, too, was a fact to be taken into consideration before alienating what was, undeniably, Sereitei's most useful division.

The mere notion that Szayel Aporro would say that any other division was more important than his own should have woken Ichimaru Gin up in the sounds of a million alarm bells. It did not.

'I would never accuse the Cuarta of outright lying.' Szayel had sweetly ended. 'I just believe he may feel he needs to...over-compensate...in his diligence.' His words had even had an apologetic undertone, no trace of triumph or gloating.

_Perfect._

It was only then that the Cuarta gazed in Lilinette's direction. Not through her, as he'd gazed through Gin, but straight at her, wide green eyes with no trace of sclera or expression.

How odd, Lilinette thought, feeling the irresistible urge of lowering her glance in shame. For that split moment, she'd had the eerie impression that Ulquiorra had expected her to stand up and confess to what they both knew was true, simply because Szayel Aporro's weave, and his award-worthy performance had been that grotesquely abhorrent.

She did nothing of the sort.

'I do not believe I have anything to add, Ichimaru-sama,' Ulquiorra said, dryly.

Lilinette felt that time itself had stopped, and prepared herself for the cold eternity of Gin's internal deliberations, holding her breath as the 1st Division lieutenant gazed at the two Espada before him.

'I didn't think you would, Cuarta,' Halibel said.

Gin shook his head.

'Yeh,' he said, shifting his glance away from the Arrancar, and beginning to stack his papers. 'I didn't think ya would either. Thank y'all for your good work.' He harshly said, standing up. 'Szayel Aporro. Halibel. Lilinette.'

'Ichimaru-sama,' Ulquiorra said. It wasn't even a question.

'Permission denied,' Tousen responded, in Gin's stead. 'I expect the 3rd Division will make up for the delay in this morning's patrol duty, Primera.'

'Tousen-sama,' the Cuarta said, again.

Halibel stood and bowed stiffly, and Szayel Aporro turned away; in turn, Lilinette felt nothing but the urge to wash.

* * *

Up next - Uuh, we'll find out if Halibel's gambit worked.


	61. Brotherly Love

__Hello, hello - it's about to get worse :)

In chapter 61, where -

Ukitake Hayoto deserves a kick in the teeth. And, Halibel wins.

* * *

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit_! The curses formed a single litany in Hayoto's mind - he nonetheless made his way north as fast as he could, which was pathetically slow even by a plus' standards. It was broad daylight in Seretei and there were only so many back alleys that one could take before one had to cross over open spaces. An act had to be maintained so as to avoid watchful eyes, certain routes had to be taken - and even then he wasn't guaranteed success. It was all a gamble, where the wager was death if one got off easy.

Only twenty minutes before, when he'd arrived for what should've been a routine meeting with fellow saboteurs in the old deserted barracks of the 10th, he'd learned of the disastrous attack on the 3rd. Hayoto had not bothered to stay and talk with the courier any longer. Fools, glorious, desperate and horribly green fools he'd named the whole lot of them as he shrugged off the man's desperate demands for answers, and took off running, not bothering to hear the whole story or further investigate.

There was a chance that he could be wrong in his fears, that he was most likely wrong in part. He could be mistaken in thinking that the young arrancar with whom he thought himself allied with would not see this as his betrayal, that she wouldn't cave under pressure of her own attachments and bring the shadows of the 2nd to immediately descend upon Rukongai in a massive dragnet, to sweep him and everyone else up in one wide, indiscriminate pull. Yet, even if she did, Hayoto thought to himself, wolves didn't live to be old on their strength and viciousness alone, not when the hunters always won the straight fight. No, Hayoto was old and wary, and most of all, he was in Sereitei, now. If the Omnitskido would take action, they would take it now, this very morning, and their Rukongai sweep would miss him. Knowledge of how and where they'd struck would gain him the time and the options to flee to some dark place, once again to escape the indignity and terror that the rest would suffer, and return to tear at Aizen's flanks again. But with what strength?

Bringing the organization to its current power had taken time, men – already trained men, who knew how to fight both in formation and alone, and the grudging sympathy of Rukongai. If the Omnitskido struck, the entire thing would have to be rebuilt from scratch; the numbers of the able would be greatly reduced, and, with Sereitei's eye firmly fixed on Rukongai, it would be hard to hide. Just like in the North, Rukongai would see the resistance movement as at least half guilty of the collateral damage the Omnitskido would inflict. The war they waged was not the pluses' war; but for Aizen's mistake in North Rukongai, which had turned all the other districts fearful, all the Omnitskido would have had to do was show the pluses some attention, perhaps maintain them safe, and the pluses would easily turn…Gods…

Lilinette and the Shinigami of the 3rd were already well regarded in West Rukongai; Grimmjow Jagguerjaques and his crew were well seen in the South, and, since people cared little about rampaging demigods if their own existences retained a modicum of familiarity, it was not hard to envision that at least some could be turned, and that the sympathy that the resistance had enjoyed would thin. The North remained, of course, but Hayoto doubted he'd find more stable ground and more promise of concealment there than Sereitei itself did. The massacre had left the North equally embittered against both sides…This left the East alone as possible safe ground – yet that, Hayoto thought, at last crossing the westward running street which bisected Seretei into north and south halves, and finally making his way through portion he knew to be abandoned, was a trap onto itself. The concentration of forces across Rukongai had been difficult enough to hide, thus attempting to gather enough Shinigami and materials to pose a threat into the East alone would draw the Omnitskido like a magnet.

He could not burn this bridge, Hayoto thought, once more cursing his companions' lack of foresight. Another litany of curses formed in his mind, his impotent fury directed at Kira Izuru, Hisagi Shuuhei and their followers, who probably imagined that all that had been accomplished had been done by force of their _reiatsu_…Blasted reiatsu, and blasted Shinigami, who solely relied upon it, even now, in the thirteenth hour, and even after an outright reiatsu contest had thoroughly thwarted them all…

Throwing stealth to the wind in favor of speed, Hayoto broke into an all out sprint, following the outer walls of the ruins of the 11th and the expanded 12th to the north, towards the 13th. He kept his legs pumping even as acid seemed to replace the blood in his veins and his breath became little more than futile gasps, not even bothering to look around himself anymore. He focused solely on the glowing crystal necklace that bounced in his hand. The only physical remnant from his time in the omnitskido aside from the scars, it was a natural reitsu detector, its color indicating both strength and type of reiatsu. With painful slowness, the crystal was gradually gaining the marine blue laced with white flames that he associated with his eldest brother.

At last, he reached the edges of the 13th, where the gangs of arrancar and shinigami pressed into service hadn't bothered to come, leaving an area slowly stripped of its former pride and beauty by the elements and conflict, a massive coral destroyed by a sudden pestilance. With the house in sight, Hayoto returned the crystal to its hiding spot beneath his shirt and ran forward.

Quickstepping over a few bits of disgarded rubish and easily jumping the stone fence, Hayoto was momentarily distracted when he found himself landing in high grass. Gardening was one of the many quirks about his older sibling that Hayoto simply couldn't comprehend and he found it somehow difficult to believe that, even in the state of things, that Jushiro would let the grass get so high. However, the presence of two neatly trimmed bonsai trees and the blazing glow of his crystal confirmed that this was indeed where his brother was being kept.

A final long moment of listening revealed nothing; he opened the door, and very nearly had a heart attack. Thin almost to the point of translusence, a single black thread ran from where it had been tied off near the top of the frame to the rear of the door. What it triggered he did not wish to find out. He bowed under it, leaving it untouched and went in, sliding in to the darkened house. Though obviously well cared for and neatly organized, the house had a feeling of decay about it in the way the blinds were closed and only the barest light slipped in, illuminating crowded specks of dust dancing forlornly. Silently, Hayoto slid throught he main living room, a malevolent spirit in a dead house.

But in the kitchen, there was sound and light still. Jushiro was cooking something: miso soup, he guessed, because it was the first memory that sprang to mind. Jushiro always added too much soi sauce and that's how Hayoto loved it best. And as Hayoto crossed this last thresshold, warily checking for more traps and finding none, he saw his brother kneeling by a small fire as he stirred a tiny pot with a broken wooden spoon, undoubtedly burning his fingers. Looking at him now, his face thin and pale and the captain's haori abandoned in favor of a dirty white kimono, Hayoto could see nothing of the father, elder brother and adored champion which he'd alternately revered and struggled against his entire life. Very deliberately, he took a loud step forward.

'You should've come in earlier. I might have made more...'

He was expecting someone else, Hayoto thought, not caring to guess who - Jushiro's words caught in his throat, when he looked up and at last saw his youngest brother standing in the threshold.

'Gods,' Jushiro whispered, and the spoon clattered to the ground, forgotten. Before he could do anything, Hayoto found himself wrapped in a tight embrace, in arms that felt far too thin for comfort. Hayoto stood still, paralyzed by the unexpected warmth, when he knew he should be shoving the Shinigami off and getting straight to business. If what he feared of Lilinette was true, Ulquiorra's hounds would already be on the loose and he dared not let them catch scent of him. At last, he felt the grip loosen and Hayoto felt his wits return.

'We need to talk,' Hayoto said, in a low and harsh tone, as he turned back into safety of the dark living room, not bothering with a salute, or any acknowledgement of the embrace. He sat down in the middle of the room, eschewing the few nearby cushions for the bare floor and watched as Jushiro did the same so that the two sat facing one another. In the dim light, he saw his brother nod; he'd have expected that his eagerness to dispense with any pretence of affection or even amicable behaviour would at least cause a mild trace of disappointment on Jushiro's features. There was none, and for no reason that he cared to analyse, Hayoto himself felt disappointed.

'There's been an attack on the 3rd,' Hayoto followed, without preamble and watched as Jushiro tensed, listened to the sharp intake of his breath, expected a question, or many…But Jushiro did not speak.

'It was a cell of my group, they call themselves the 'Old Guard,' headed by Hideyoshi Kenshin from the 4th. I trained them, provided supplies, but, probably under the influence of your fellow Shinigami officers, Kira Izuru and Hisagi Shuuhei, they ignored my orders and attacked the 3rd anyway.'

'Were there any casualties?' Jushiro asked, ignoring the hidden reproach. The urgency in his tone reflected his posture as he subconsciously leaned forward.

'No. The Arrancar contained the explosion, and only the saboteurs were killed.' Hayoto said, noting with displeasure that Jushiro had relaxed in a slight, but obvious display of relief. 'However, the highest seated officer, Takeshi something or another…maybe you know him, got himself into trouble with the Omnitskido and was taken in for interrogation. There's reliable hearsay that Ulquiorra's pressing to have the 3rd decimated.'

Jushiro breathed in and out, slowly and purposefully, yet, for one who knew him well the tension in his shoulders was impossible to miss – though he felt desperately pressed for time, Hayoto remained silent, allowing his older brother to come to terms with the brutally delivered news. He also did not leave himself time to query the actual reason for his brother's' visible concern.

The Shinigami looked up, his brown eyes filled with steady fire.

'What do you need me to do?' he asked, with implicit trust, and, deep in his heart where he'd never admit to it, Hayoto felt something warm. Encouraged, he quickly gave his reply.

'I will need you to speak to Lilinette on my behalf,' Hayoto began; he shifted nervously as Jushiro looked over his shoulder, as if awaiting for an intruder to come barging in at any second.

The Shinigami was tense, with aught else but the news.

'I'd prefer to attempt it myself, but I've had it from reliable sources that she has been called in to the 1st Division, and I have no time to wait for her.' Hayoto pressed. 'As you may know, over the past few months, she's provided me with precious cover…'

Hayoto paused, as his brother nodded, slowly – the overly easy admission took him somewhat by surprise.

'I will need you to convince her that it wasn't me that ordered that attack. Better yet, convince her that that group wasn't even connected with me at all.'

Though it was difficult to tell in the dim light, he knew that his brother was frowning. 'So you would have me lie to her,' Jushiro said, with an unpleasant and unexpected note of disapproval. He drew another deep breath, still considering the notion. 'I think you seriously underestimate her if you think that she will believe this, Hayoto. Even if she did, and she continued protecting you, this course of action might open you up to later contradictions.'

Hayoto shook his head. 'Normally, yes,' he admitted, 'but the chance is worth taking. I will need her blinded for a further few months. After that, she will be useless.'

'Blinded,' the Shinigami echoed. 'Useless…'

The air didn't change to as great an extent as it might have if Jushiro not been suppressing his reiatsu, but the change in atmosphere was still palpable, and Hayoto felt the repulsive tingle of electricity on his tongue. The sensation, which he associated with Jushiro keeping his anger in check, was familiar and unpleasant, causing a string of uninvited childhood memories to rush through Hayoto's mind.

He frowned in his turn.

'The Hollow trusts you.' Hayoto said, dryly – his brother's silence lingered, and, feeling less and less at ease with each passing second, the younger Ukitake shook his head quickly, his mind counting every precious second wasted as if they were gold coins slipping through his hands. 'I was not pleased by this attack,' he hissed, leaning forward, 'but I am equally uneager to waste time on thin moral ministrations, Jushiro – indeed, I need you to lie to her. Her initial tolerance to me stemmed from a clear attachment you have built, and that is as valuable a weapon as I possess at the moment. You have made use of it well, and now I need to make use of it, else, I will be wasting my only chance of protecting the organization I've built…'

'She equally cares for you,' Jushiro began, the calm tone of his voice no more than another unpleasant childhood memory – the same tone of voice that his brother always used to refuse without using the word _no, _and Hayoto was overwhelmed with surprise, at first, but then impatience and anger.

'The Omnitskido could be upon Rukongai as we speak,' he said, dryly. 'I…_we_…do not have time for this.'

He stood, attempting to press his brother into resolution, but, true to himself, Jushiro did not even flinch. He simply cast another look over his shoulder, then lowered his glance.

'When and if the time of Aizen's fall will come, Hayoto,' the Shinigami said with deliberate, maddening slowness, 'I have no doubt that you and your organization will think that you have brought it about with no exterior help whatsoever.'

'I am unsure how to regard that statement, _Onii-san_,' Hayoto said, clenching his teeth.

'As precisely what I have said,' Jushiro tiredly answered. 'I have known that Lilinette has been turning a blind eye to you since the two of you met. She never outright told me that she was, however; I doubt she even let it slip on purpose, but she is easy…'

'Easy to read,' Hayoto impatiently ended. 'Foolish.'

Jushiro looked to the side.

'She's endangered herself for you,' he followed. 'She has endangered the 3rd…'

'Excellent,' the younger brother snapped. 'I need that to continue.'

'Even if now, the actions of your companions have placed them squarely under Schiffer's blade?' Jushiro continued to ask, blasted calm, blasted self assurance.

'_We_ have always been under the Omnitskido's blade,' Hayoto answered. 'Whatever is left of the old Omnitskido's agents; the 7th; the 9th; the 10th; _your_ 13th,' he enumerated, in an ominous whisper. 'Why would the 3rd be any different?'

'Because they aided you all under the command of a Hollow, who was under no obligation…'

'I have already acknowledged your merits, Jushiro,' Hayoto briskly interrupted – his brother looked up, with as much open anger in his eyes as Hayoto had ever seen; he was taken aback, and his mind emptied, as if a sudden flush of water had carried away all his other thoughts.

_What…_he thought, dully – the anger in Jushiro's eyes receded, and for a second, a mere priceless second, the elder Ukitake looked confused, lost and surprised at his own reaction; he lowered his glance to his hands, and willed his fingers straight.

'I will speak to Lilinette on your behalf,' Jushiro added, softly, before Hayoto could understand or interpret the lapse. 'But I shall not treat her dishonorably, Hayoto, and I should hope that from now on, neither will you…'

Hayoto met Jushiro's hard stare for a moment before his brother looked away, his shoulders slumping inwards - Hayoto wished to feel anger, but felt no more than a distant, empty ache, forcibly shoving away that cold, logical part of himself that said, that, judging by how pale he looked, his brother probably wouldn't last another year.

'The girl is nothing but a thing to you, isn't she?' Jushiro wearily asked. It was the resignation in his voice, the kind of resignation that made him feel like sullen teenager because it meant he'd somehow failed at a test he hadn't even seen, that finally made Hayoto angry. That time had passed, however, the Omnitskido operative told himself – back then, the disappointment was always rendered even more bitter by the sense that Jushiro was too tired to keep arguing even when he knew he was right. The fact that Hayoto had willed himself to regard these instances as victories, though time all too often rushed to prove Jushiro right, had passed into irrelevance as well.

'Of course. She's Hollow,' Hayoto hissed back as if that explained everything and feeling no doubt – to him, it truly did. 'A Hollow, part of the occupying force, the enemy – you will remember them as the ones who fucking ate our parents, and, in more recent memory if old ones will not stir, the ones who destroyed everything that you built.' He practically spat out the last sentence and swallowed acid to stop himself from screaming on top of his lungs.

Jushiro did not flinch – his blasted control and blasted self-assurance making Hayoto feel mortified at his own loss of control.

'Lilinette cannot be allowed to understand the full extent of my operation's goals,' he said, in a far more subdued, but rage filled voice. 'She's less deserving of our retaliation than the rest, but she will remain a _thing_ until we can afford to make her a target…'

'She freed all of our brothers and sisters,' Jushiro said, as if the words should have made a difference. Perhaps they did, in some remote corner of his heart, but then, Hayoto thought, it was precisely the fact that he did not listen to such distant whispers that made him different to the eldest of his siblings. 'I did not have to lie to her for her to do that more than I've had to manipulate her into hiding you; she did it because she thinks herself my friend, she _is_ my friend, and I…'

Jushiro stirred, and the taste of electricity in his brother's mouth changed flavor.

'I will not lie to a friend; whether she chooses to believe that you were uninvolved or not must be left entirely up to her, as it has been thus far.'

The older Ukitake stood; the younger felt dismissed, wronged and utterly furious.

'What will it take to make you get off personal, fucking higher ground?' Hayoto hissed. 'No one is denying her innocence, but you cannot deny her usefulness…'

'Be quiet,' Jushiro said, softly; Hayoto found himself beyond caring.

'I came to ask you to keep her useful; do at least that, Jushiro, if…'

'Hayoto,' the Shinigami said, and though his voice was low, it was little short of an order – he grabbed his younger sibling by the chest of his kimono, while the electrical taste almost made Hayoto retch; he didn't swallow his words.

'…if you cannot bring yourself to assist us with anything _tangible,'_ Hayoto spat, in utter fury. Jushiro's eyes grew so wide that, for a moment, the younger brother fully expected to be flung across the room, in an odd replay of the incident that had preceded his departure from home centuries earlier; he tensed, knowing full well that no strength his body could muster would be able to stand against his brother's reiatsu, and indeed, it could not.

The front door slid open to the soft tinkle of a bell.

Hayoto found himself shoved up against the middle of the wall before he could blink, the air knocked out of his lungs by his brother's suddenly massive strength. Jushiro's eyes were still wide, still filled with fury, but beyond that, something else lurked…Hayoto couldn't help the small gasp that escaped him as the cold, slick sensation of a spell slid over him like oil.

'Ah, Rudobon,' Jushiro said, with mock cordiality, as he turned around and greeted the leader of the group of exequias which had just walked in behind him. His russet stare lingered in his brothers' for a second longer, warning him to utter no breath.

'Is there anything I can assist you with?' the Shinigami asked; he turned away, and Hayoto had to steel his resolve not to draw a deep breath as the tremendous weight of his brother's energy was lifted from his chest. He looked down at his hand, recoiling slightly at the fact that his fingers were covered in a translucent, barely present webbing.

The long-horned creature walked into the room without responding, and stopped in front of Jushiro. As he did so, six other arrancar in the same uniform filed into the house and began walking around, violently turning over the few pieces of decoration the house possessed. None took notice of the frozen plus, their glances sliding over him and through him.

'Did you forget something the last time you were here?' Jushiro asked, his mouth set in a tight line as his previously neatly made bed was torn apart. Hayoto could hear the muffled tinkle of heavy ceramic pots being smashed somewhere outside, and saw his brother cringe. One of the creatures, who was apparently dissatisfied with the number of things left to destruct in the living room passed to head into the kitchen coming so close that Hayoto had to glue his heels to the wall to avoid the thing stepping on his foot.

The horned Arrancar looked to Jushiro, but did not respond; slowly, making the beams beneath his feet creak at each step, he began walking slowly towards the kitchen, facing the wall Hayoto had been rammed against – the plus stopped breathing. With a final, exaggerated step, the faceless Hollow came to a stop only a few feet away from Hayoto, so that the man found himself staring directly into black holes the monster's eye sockets.

Just behind it, he saw his brother's fingers come to rest on his sword hilt. Black spots started to gather at the edges of Hayoto's vision.

'An attempt has been perpetrated against the shadow command of the 3rd Division,' the Hollow said, in a deep, cavernous voice. Sounds of overturned pots and creaking wood emerged from the kitchen, along with the sizzling sound of hastily put out embers. Hot vapour and ash soon followed, in sign that the pot of miso soup had been overturned, just as everything else.

'A comprehensive search for resistance agents has been mandated at all Shinigami residences,' the thing added; the darkness that filled its mask was thick and mesmerizing – all but solid...

'Did you perhaps suspect that I was boiling one of them?' Jushiro bitterly asked.

After a further moment of intense, black, scrutiny, the Arrancar spun around and stepped back towards the Shinigami. Hayoto breathed.

'Or that I had buried one in my bonsai pots?' Jushiro asked in a commendably dry voice, as his brother tried to rid his vision of darkness.

'The mandate was to leave no pot unturned,' Rudobon said, a note of chilling satisfaction in his voice – his soldiers gathered around him, and despite their heavy masks, and utter lack of human features, Hayoto could only guess that they shared their commander's satisfaction.

_No pot unturned, _he dully thought, glancing around, and noticing that all menial semblance of comfort that his brother's quarters might have had a few minutes before had been erased in a matter of seconds, and that all had been done with no other purpose than malice.

'Then,' Jushiro said, his voice trembling with bitterness and sorrow the likes of which Hayoto had not even imagined possible in his older brother's voice, 'you have accomplished it with far greater results than a week ago. I can hardly await to see what new corners to search you will discover next week.'

'There's nothing here,' Rudobon said, spinning on himself without lending Jushiro any further attention, and leaving the Shinigami shaking with fury and humiliation. His hand was still on his sword's hilt, but Hayoto knew he would not draw – as, perhaps, he hadn't drawn in months. Overwrought with equal measures of guilt and anger of his own, the younger brother pressed his fingers along the reassuring blade of his own dagger.

The Hollow lingered for a few more torturous seconds, looking about themselves as if attempting to find something else that could be ground into dust; they fully turned and filed out, as silently as they'd entered.

'Tell Ulquiorra Schiffer that I will be grateful for his continued attentions,' Jushiro managed, taking a step on their trail, and giving himself an excuse to stand in the doorway to bar them from returning.

'Ulquiorra Schiffer?' the Exequias commander said, turning his head; Hayoto all but cursed under his breath at the fact that his brother had chosen to speak precisely when he'd dared take a minute step away from the wall. Despite his oversight, Jushiro's spell held. 'No, Ukitake Jushiro. Tia Halibel.'

Rudobon paused, taking in the Shinigami's surprise; his demeanor seemed to express pleasure.

'As of five hours ago, the Omnitskido is no longer under the command of the Cuarta Espada, Ulquiorra Schiffer. This mission was the last one, under his mandate.'

Hayoto could see his brother's chin rise in defiance, as if he'd believed the words to be a jest.

'Do not be concerned, however, Ukitake Jushiro,' the Hollow said, amid the sound of ceramic shards being crushed further. 'We shall not allow ourselves to be missed.'

The Exequias followed their leader out without a further word; Hayoto remained frozen for a few further minutes, expecting that his brother would return inside and give him notice that he could move. He could see his shadow on the porch, standing tall, frail and immobile, and gazing down at something that Hayoto could not truly see.

Hesitantly, and only after assuring himself that his skin was still covered in the shimmering net of his brother's' spell, Hayoto brought himself to step forward. As if he'd forgotten about his presence, Jushiro did not look over his shoulder, or towards the thrashed room behind him.

Every week, Hayoto thought, clenching his teeth. Jushiro's life was uprooted every week.

'Jushiro,' he said, not knowing where he wanted to lead, or whether the beginning led anywhere at all.

Not looking at his younger sibling, Jushiro leaned down on one knee, and glanced down - somehow, amid the shards of ceramic and the scattered dark earth, the frail plants had finally looked _alive_, even to Hayoto, who cared little for gardening. The Shinigami picked up one of the plants, gently shaking its tiny trunk to rid its leaves of earth.

'Watch that no harm comes to her,' he distantly said, the soft sound of his voice erasing all memory of the past few minutes from Hayoto's mind, and making him furiously and carelessly step forward, ready to argue; another shard of ceramic broke under the sole of his sandal, and fire returned to his brother's eyes as swiftly as if it had been magically summoned.

Hayoto didn't know what hit him – he simply felt dragged, then pushed against the wall once more. This time, however, there was nothing else lining the anger in his eyes.

'The kido you are under will not last forever,' Jyushiro said, resting his worryingly frail forearm and terrifyingly heavy reiatsu on his brother's chest. 'I expect that you shall soon wish to leave, having delivered your message, and I think it will serve in hiding your retreat. Thus, I shall have no time to explain to you how not only dishonorable, but self-sabotaging an attempt at manipulating Lilinette would be at this point.'

'As for my own assistance, which, as usual, comes neither in a shape nor at a level which you would recognize as tangible,' he followed, frowning deeply, 'allow me to give a further push. The confiscated zanpakutoh, all six hundred of them, are concealed within the Arrancar district on the grounds of the 3rd – two in the north east, one straight due north of the captain's quarters.'

Hayoto's eyes widened in surprise.

'The buildings will be lower than the rest and have distinctive green roofs,' the Shinigami added, between clenched teeth.

The dark haired man breathed out in unadulterated joy, his eyes gathering a steely edge; such information had been eagerly sought for for months upon months, and would be priceless – not only in restoring his authority over his group, now that Izuru and Shuuhei had suddenly manifested, but to the organisation's overall goals. The thought of uttering thanks, however, did not cross his mind.

'And I suppose you came by this information being utterly honourable, Onii-san,' he said, in utter irony, slipping his forearm between his brother's body and his own, and pushing Jushiro back. The Shinigami yielded with no further resistance, and allowed himself to be pushed away. He stood three feet away, not only drowning in disappointment with his brother, but also in disappointment with himself.

'If you harm her, Hayoto…' Jushiro whispered, looking as close to proffering a threat as he had ever come; the lost and confused look returned, and though he'd always wished to see if either emotion stood well on his older brother's' features Hayoto felt nothing but unexplainable pain.

'In the end of all things…' he whispered, readying to remind Jushiro that in the end, Lilinette would always be one of the _others_, no matter how…

_How honest. How brave. How generous. How selfless._

_Regardless of how much he owed her. Regardless of how much Rukongai owed her…_

'Fuck off, Shiro,' Hayoto cursed, storming away before his brother had won in full.

Behind him, Jushiro stood alone for another few minutes, then sighed, willing himself not to look about; he walked to the kitchen to fetch an old broom, some gnarled and rusty gardening implements, and once more knelt on the porch, by the remnants of his bonsai.

* * *

Up next - Ukitake is not being very honourable, and Lili is not being very politically wise.


	62. All Things Crooked

Evening :) and here's the second part of Uki's bad afternoon. Thank you all for reading and commenting, and, well, Lili has grown up quite a bit, has she not? in

Chapter 62 - Where we are romantic.

* * *

'Had visitors, huh,' Lilinette observed, standing in the doorway.

Jushiro looked over his shoulder and smiled tiredly.

'More than you imagine,' he answered, softly; the girl shook her head and approached, frowning as she looked about herself. 'A mess,' Jushiro sighed. 'And you should see the kitchen.'

He hadn't had time to straighten anything out. The bonsai had been his main concern, so he had seen to them, and prepared to replant them as best he could, not giving too much thought to the fact that the metallic pots he'd selected would probably end up rusting and changing the colour of their foliage. In the end, he'd considered, if the Omnitskido took to uprooting them every other week, it would not much matter.

Without a word, Lilinette joined him, and grabbed the other end of the upturned mattress he was trying to lift as she'd walked in. She didn't meet his glance, but their gestures needed little coordination; they set the mattress upright against the wall, before the girl knelt and started collecting the sheets and pillows.

'D'ya have any clean ones?' she distractedly asked. The man responded with a defeated shrug.

'In the other room, though I would not vouch for their cleanliness right now…Maybe they pulled those out as well.'

Lilinette looked up to him, giving him the sensation that she was not truly there. He swallowed dry.

'Leave it,' Jushiro whispered. 'You must have other things on your mind…'

She distantly nodded, but nonetheless continued to straighten and fold the sheets, with unexpectedly practiced gestures. She was not even thinking about it, he'd noticed – her hands worked as if they'd had will of their own, and as if she had been doing nothing else than folding laundry her entire life.

'We'll need to wash these in any case,' Lilinette said, looking upon the perfectly square and neatly arranged pile of cloth she'd created. 'Dunno why I folded them, even…'

'Hayoto was here,' Jushiro said, kneeling by her side, and touching her wrist, half in affection, but half because for some reason, he could truly see her grabbing the laundry and getting up to wash it, which gave him no end of embarrassment; Lilinette looked up in surprise, and only nodded at the end of a few long seconds. She looked distinctly tired.

'So you know,' she shrugged.

'Yes. I am very sorry,' Jushiro said.

'That they didn't make it?' Lilinette asked, trying to smile but failing; the man's fingers stayed on her wrist, and he squeezed it gently.

'You know that's not true,' he answered. 'You know that, right?' the Shinigami pressed, when she didn't lift her gaze off the floor. 'Lili…'

'What I find really really funny,' the girl unexpectedly said, neither her voice nor her face depicting any trace of amusement, 'is that for all this time nobody has even thought of picking on fucking Barragan – they go an' pick on me an' Stark and Grimm, but not on Barragan…Shit,' she whispered – and it was only then that Jushiro noticed that her hands were shaking. 'If your baby bro' comes by again, ya can thank him for me,' Lilinette continued. 'The amount of trouble his boys got us into…'

'He said it was not his wish that you come to harm,' the Shinigami said – Lilinette snappily looked up, meeting his glance and frowning deeply.

'Yeh,' she dryly said. 'Sure. What's he gonna say now that they failed? And what are you gonna say?'

Jushiro let his fingers slip across hers, not really intending anything but to stop her hand from shaking. Indeed, he thought, his own position could be no more than ambivalent – no matter how furious Hayoto had left him, and no matter how much he regretted what had happened to her, he could truly not pick one side over the other. He chose not to think of the matter further.

'Will your…the 3rd Division,' he hastily corrected, 'suffer consequences? Hayoto further told me that Ulquiorra was considering…'

'No, I…' she shook her head, 'we avoided that, tho' it was real close…Why'd he have to go and do that?' Lilinette asked, bitterly looking up at him, but not withdrawing her hand. 'Why'd he have to go and do that to me and to Grimm? Ain't we done enough? An' don't we have enough to deal with right now?'

He did not know how to respond, and felt saddened by her anger, which he perceived as justified – she was still there, however, and there was nothing in her demeanor that would have suggested she'd come to prepare him for bad news. She did not even look furious. She simply seemed tired and deeply frustrated, and her eye was dull. Jushiro lowered his glance.

'Hayoto explained that it was a fraction of his group that disobeyed him,' the Shinigami said. 'He said he did not order them to go after the 3rd, nor after you – I am truly sorry, I personally believed him, but I cannot tell you that you should believe me.'

The Shinigami bowed briefly.

'I sincerely hope that you do,' he added, softly, letting go of her hand, and watching her fingers curl on top of the folded sheets. The Arrancar remained quiet for a moment, looking lost in her own thoughts.

'Does it even matter what I believe?' Lilinette shrugged, standing up. 'I don't really got a choice, here. It's not like after I didn't turn him for all the shit he's done, I'm gonna do it now….'

She frowned reproachfully, and meaningfully sustained his gaze until the man looked away.

'Tho'' she added, in a sigh, 'if he runs across Grimm, he gonna get one right in the teeth, and I'm gonna stand by laughing and pointing, I tell ya…'

He unwillingly chuckled, distantly considering that Hayoto probably deserved at least that, and not managing to bring himself to worry. Unlike Hayoto, he'd not truly feared that she would set the Omnitskido upon him - what Jushiro had feared was that the situation would be taken out of her hands, and entrusted to someone else. Over the past few months, Lilinette had certainly proven herself a good leader – by the rumours which sometimes leaked from the 3rd, by the fact that she and Grimmjow had thus far headed the most expeditions into the human world, and even by Hayoto's demeanour in the morning, he could thoroughly tell she had done particularly well. Her attachment to her Division was also undeniable, yet, Jushiro suspected, none of those things would aid her if she had to face creatures more politically skilled than herself, and, in the end, he'd had the sensation that whatever victories she'd scored on the day, had been fought at the quarters of the 1st. He wondered how she'd accomplished that.

'That's if I still have any teeth to laugh with, once _I_ run across Grimm.' Lilinette muttered, her shoulders slumped in defeat. 'Life's shit, eh,' she remarked.

'No,' he rushed to contradict, standing in turn. 'It's just…not very full of fortuitous coincidences, sometimes.' The words finally managed to make her smile.

'An' you couldn't have said that in a more complicated way,' she said, arching an eyebrow.

Jushiro shrugged.

'Nope,' he answered, drawing a deep breath and looking at the disaster that still reigned all about. 'What a mess,' he sighed again. She chuckled, willingly letting herself be distracted.

'Come on,' Lilinette said. 'I'm good for menial labour.' Equally eager to put all too heavy thoughts out of his mind, Jushiro nodded, trying to muster some enthusiasm for the task ahead.

The frail feeling threatened to falter soon, however, when both observed the true dimensions of the disorder in the kitchen – soot and cold embers were strewn all about, while the remnants of the soup pooled towards one corner of the room, where the floor had clearly been crooked. Dented pots and broken dishes were pouring out of the open cupboards, and a bag of rice, which had been viciously stabbed, had bled its contents all over the floor, mingling with the soup and the soot.

'…the fuck,' Lilinette noted, and for once, Jushiro thought that the expression was appropriate. 'It's like a blind guy was hunting for rats in here!'

'I have a few of those,' the Shinigami said, 'but they're tame…'He started to chuckle. 'What's best,' he managed, scratching the back of his head, and laughing even harder at the fact that he thought she would indeed appreciate the irony, 'is that Hayoto was still here when they were assassinating the soup.'

'Ya both mad?' the girl exclaimed.

'Quite possibly,' the Shinigami shrugged. 'It was not intentional - I wanted to hear what Hayoto had to say, and, even if I had not heard him, he would not have had time to hide elsewhere. Rudobon looked through him for the better part of ten minutes…Thus, your blind man analogy is quite fitting…'

'Yeh, yeh, well, the rat one is too,' she frowned. 'Dude, that is so _not_ funny…' Lilinette added, when the Shinigami's amusement didn't immediately fade.

'It wasn't at the moment, but it is now,' Jushiro admitted, still chuckling; the girl rolled her eye in dismay, but nonetheless managed a grin.

She started moving about just when he felt ready to admit he had no idea what corner to start from, as everything looked equally impossible. Managing to hop and skip over the bigger piles of dirt, Lilinette made her way to the stove, and cleaned out the cold and wet embers, piling them on a dirty old rag. Within another moment, she'd started a new fire, starting to warm up water; she moved about the kitchen with something that resembled bitter determination, and enough method to make even Tsubaki envious.

By the time that the man had managed to pick up the larger shards of glass, and sift through them for any dishes that might miraculously have survived the onslaught, Lilinette had managed to soap through half of the pots and sweep away the soot and the rice. She'd left the soot encrusted soup pot to soak, and went off looking for anything that could be used to wipe the floor.

The disaster, which Jushiro had thought would take hours to clear had been set straight in only a couple. Though he'd done his best to keep up, it hadn't been the girl's natural energy to completely outdo him, but the fact that she didn't seem to waste a single step, gesture, or drop of warm water. In the end, he'd given up on even trying, and moved into the next room, to straighten everything as best he could. Jushiro had spent quite some time trying to fix one of the bed's low legs, not minding that she giggled every time she passed him by and observed his increasingly creative sticks and threads holding mechanism. On one of her trips she'd helped him straighten a torn drawer, losing her tolerance with his overly patient fiddling and managing to catch one of his fingers when the drawer had finally fallen back along its wooden guide, and slipped in.

'Ow,' the Shinigami had protested. Not looking in the least regretful, Lilinette had taken his hand and expertly analyzed his fingers, then declared the injury non-lethal and straightened a couple of pictures before she'd moved on.

They'd almost run into each other when he'd absentmindedly walked out of the small storage room, carrying sheets that the Exequias had mercifully left untouched – probably because he hadn't bothered to fold them - and while she'd run out of the kitchen with a basket full of steaming pieces of cloth. Lilinette had measured his un-ironed sheets with a critical eye, regaled him with a 'Hm…' that had made him chuckle, then rushed on her way.

'I hope you gonna feed me,' she had shouted, from outside. Jushiro had dropped the sheets on the bed and painstakingly straightened his back, feeling all but spent. For a moment, he watched her figure through the still closed shutters, and catching his glance lingering as the Arrancar bent forward, straightened, then stretched to hang up the cloth. 'Hey,' Lilinette had called again, snapping him out of his contemplation, and making him chuckle to himself. 'Don't make like you can't hear me!'

'If there is anything left to eat,' Jushiro replied, 'consider yourself officially invited to dinner.'

'That ain't much of an offer,' she'd laughed, and he'd shrugged, admitting that it probably was not – he'd grabbed the bed sheet by one end, and vigorously shaken it straight, only to regret it when his breath painfully caught. He'd tried to cough lightly, not wishing to alarm her, and erase whatever trace of a good mood they'd both reacquired.

'Sorry,' Jushiro had faintly apologized, at the end of a few painful minutes. Despite the stinging in his chest, the look of concern on her features had hurt far more. 'Sorry,' the Shinigami had repeated. She'd smiled sadly, and vaguely waved her hand to dismiss the word.

'Anything to get out of dinner, eh?' Lilinette had winked, causing him to laugh and cough a few more times. She had approached and caught the other end of the bed sheet, helping him straighten it out, then folding the corners under the mattress with thoughtless dexterity. 'Lemme finish this,' she'd gently added, glancing at him in a way that let him know he must have turned pale. 'Go scavenge for food – I'm sure I saw some stuff lying around. Just don't ask me where I put it,' Lilinette had added, poking the tip of her tongue out.

He'd hesitated for a moment, torn between letting a strange young woman make up his bed, and the fact that his chest was delivering ominous warning signs, and considered the duvet cover as if it had been the side of a mountain.

'Come on, Uki,' Lilinette had prompted again, fluffing the pillow and tossing it to the head of the bed. 'I ain't killed you by yellin', you wanna die by my cooking?'

Jushiro had felt bitter without truly knowing why.

At the end of two hours of work, however, the kitchen, as well as the house had looked spotless, though, the Shinigami admitted to himself, in a bit of childish satisfaction, Lilinette's practical sense in arranging things was certainly not a match to her speed; after he'd hunted for the miso soup ingredients through all of the kitchen cupboards, and made himself the silent promise of entertaining himself by fixing a rickety cupboard door on the next day, he'd started re-making the soup.

'You are surprisingly good at this,' Jushiro absentmindedly said. 'Thank you,' he added, 'alone…'

The look in her eye surprised him.

'Lotsa practice,' Lilinette shrugged, leaning against the doorsill. 'I used to do this for a living…How strange. I ain't thought of that…'

She tried to grin, but a shadow had turned her eye to the odd shade of crimson he recognized from the night when she'd begun losing her mask – Jushiro distantly noted that she now stood almost a foot above the line he'd drawn with the bottom of a teacup.

'You've started to remember your human life,' he noted, understanding that the fact must have had some significance; Lilinette nodded, and looked towards the ceiling.

'Don't like to think about it too much, but, yeah,' the Arrancar said. 'Vasto Lorde's memories,' she added, giving him a sudden chill, 'return with the loss of the masks. I try not to think about it.'

Jushiro hadn't pressed; instead, he'd slowly fished the few shiitake mushrooms he'd been soaking in hot water and cut them into thin strips, before returning them to the pot. A part of him, the part that had spent the afternoon feeling grateful and amused at the young woman's presence truly did not wish to stir further bad memories; another, the part that still tried to comprehend the nature of the Hollow before him, pressed.

'All bad memories?' he asked, quickly kneeling by the soup pot to hide his frown.

'Mostly being cold, beat up for random shit and havin' freaking erratic meal times,' the girl answered, at long length, and just as the Shinigami had thought she'd been the wiser and stopped the conversation short.

'Your family,' he whispered, watching the water starting to bubble.

'Not really sure I ever had one, like ya think of one. Don't remember my mum too much, my pops was there maybe twice a month.' she answered. 'They gave me away into service very early – already had like…'

Lilinette paused, trying to remember.

'…four, maybe?' she shrugged, in defeat. 'I think I was the fifth – an' they had three more after…'

'That is no reason…' Jushiro began, hotly, and straightening so briskly that he almost overturned the soup pot for the second time.

'Maybe not for your folks, Uki,' Lilinette shook her head. 'We was a different sort. 75th district of Rukongai sort. Not a bad sort,' she added, as a barely audible afterthought. 'Just poor an' dumb. Stark…'

The mention of the Primera's name carried equal amounts of warmth and pain, and though Jushiro had felt unprepared to find out more, he'd had to admit that he'd been the one who wished to delve in her memories, and would have to bear through.

'Stark was the only person I thought of as family,' she said. 'I've tried to think of someone else, but either I don't remember, or there truly was nobody else. I think there was truly nobody else,' Lilinette concluded.

Leaving the soup to bubble, and noting that her eye had warmed, Jushiro settled on his knees. In her turn, Lilinette had let herself slip to the floor, and gathered her knees to her chest.

'Sometimes,' she continued, of her own accord, 'I wish more people had known him, then. ''Cuz he…'

She suddenly laughed.

'It was only the other day I remembered that when we first met, he didn't _really_ have his beard…For sure, he was tryin' to grow it, but it was pitiful…I watched him grow up as much as he did me, I think; he was only ten years older, and every year when he came over, he changed, little by little…'

'Was quite funny,' she said, though judging by the fact that she'd brought her knees to her chest, and lowered her glance, she was anything but amused. 'He was sorta like a tree, in that even when he was real young and beardless, he was always well rooted and sorta guessed what he would grow into. He started out by reading things he didn't understand, and tho' he always postured like he did, I think it all only made sense to him much later, with his revolution…with…with his wars against _you_, I guess, though I didn't know about them, then…'

'An' he was still a lazy bum,' Lilinette said, finally smiling. 'I don't think he did anything else all day than sleep and chase me with his books – got kicked more than once, I tell ya, because I didn't think I had time for that crap... Somehow, he never gave up. The amount of time he wasted on me…with books, and stories, and clothes in the winter, for almost ten years, and then…'

Lilinette leaned her chin on her forearm, and looked through him.

'…and I still can't remember his first name,' she whispered; Jushiro wondered whether he should have said it would eventually come to her, or keep silent, on the strange gut feeling that he wished it wouldn't have. He didn't have time to get to an answer. 'Fuck,' Lilinette said, leaning on her arms and turning her face and closed eye to the ceiling.

'What more could have happened to me today, I wonder?' the Arrancar questioned, as Jushiro stood, and added two spoonfuls of miso paste to his broth, without bothering to fish out the mushrooms, or think of saving them for later.

'I understand Ulquiorra will no longer be heading the Omnitskido,' Jushiro said, more wishing to distract her than because he wished to obtain further information. Lilinette straightened abruptly, and questioningly leered at him.

'Damn,' she said. 'Wha'd I miss?'

'You did not know of this?' the man asked, frowning slightly. 'I had assumed…'

'So, Halibel's got it…damn, she's fucking fast!' Lilinette exclaimed.

'I assumed you knew,' Jushiro said. 'Rudobon mentioned it on his way out – I immediately connected the lack of retaliation towards Rukongai and the 3rd with his replacement, and thought that you…'

'Well, I helped it for sure, but I didn't know it was gonna happen like, now,' Lilinette answered. 'Whoa,' the girl breathed, suddenly gripped by a different concern. 'Shit, I should have stayed at the 3rd, not wandered around like a bat…Wonder if Grimm went to the New Central meeting…'

Both tellingly cringed.

'I think I'm gonna sleep over, just in case he did,' Lilinette said, not noticing that her words had made him hastily turn away. 'Whoa, she's vicious fast, that woman!' she once more exclaimed. 'I thought it would take her a week to bring down Schiffer, but she did it in ten hours…Never have to wonder what Stark saw in her, I guess,' Lilinette sighed. 'Tho' I always preferred to think that it was the boobs…What?' she frowned, watching Jushiro cringe. 'Ya seen her, no way around it – or rather, _them_,' she giggled.

'She has history with Stark?' Jushiro questioned, guessing that he was probably yet again heading into unpleasant territories, but admitting to himself that knowledge of the political and personal ties of the Espada would be tremendously useful. To himself.

_To Hayoto._

The thought gave him a chill. In hind thought, the Shinigami considered, he should not have found the information surprising – even in Hueco Mundo, relatively humanized Vasto Lorde must have been few and far between, and if they'd coexisted, some allegiances and enmities would have naturally formed. By the fact that its violent echoes carried to the day, it was easy to guess what type of relationship Stark and Barragan had had, and, on the one occasion when he'd observed Stark and Schiffer together, he could clearly tell that the hatred there was also deep and well rooted. He'd seen little of Stark's allegiances, though, and even if he rationally understood there must have been some, he still found the thought somewhat surprising.

'Yeah,' Lilinette sighed. 'Quite a bit, an' none that I liked…or like,' she corrected, with a smirk. 'Or maybe it's just that I don't like _her._ I keep tryin' to find a reason for that, and though I can pile them on – like, I was always jealous of her body, cuz for the longest time I didn't have one, or just for how it looks, like, the broomstick up her ass, like…I dunno, everything I can describe about her is damned annoying…None of the reasons seem real enough, or strong enough to explain why I always, _always_ hated her so much…'

'Beyond the body,' the Arrancar said, softly, 'Halibel's got a sort of quiet smart about her. Like a huge, wide river, flowing underground, in the dark; you can never tell where it comes from, and you can never tell where it's going, but it's there, and it's the root of her strength, and while I really don't like to think about it, and I like to blame it on her chest, it's clear to me that's what Stark loved about her…'

'Loved,' Jushiro said, feeling surprised, but finding that his voice had carried a note of irony which was strange even to his own ears.

'Loved,' Lilinette softly echoed. 'He loved her, and when she dumped him for Aizen, it took him a decade to lick his wounds. I think that pissed me off even more than the thought he was doing her,' the girl sighed. 'Cuz, how much pain he felt in the aftermath let me know…'

'That he truly did love her,' the Shinigami completed, fighting the urge of straightening and caressing her hair.

'Yeah,' Lilinette nodded. 'And after today,' she followed, in a whisper, 'what's gonna sting even more is the fact that _she_ doesn't hate me back.'

The man looked up in surprise.

'She could've fucked me today in twenty ways,' Lilinette said, furiously looking to the side. 'She, and the gay little Granz…But she didn't, she…actually helped me,' the Arrancar said, shaking her head in incomprehension. 'Not a little help, either.'

'Perhaps true, Lili,' Jushiro shrugged, beginning to grasp the political context, 'but if her goal was attaining command of the Omnitskido, she would have helped anyone that would strengthen her position against the Cuarta.'

'Ya know,' the girl said, 'ya have no clue how much like Stark you sound,' she finished, grinning wide at the fact that he was obviously taken aback. 'Yeh, I'm still mean. I get that,' she conceded, a second later. 'But strangely, that's not the kind of help I mean. When we was in there with Gin, she had no reason to _not_ let 'em kill Takeshi, or decimate my division – she an' Szayel had already scored enough that she might have gotten the Omnitskido regardless, but…all through, though I couldn't read her, I think she was trying, like, really, genuinely trying to teach me…'

She looked up, in obvious confusion.

'How important _I_ am. How powerful _I _am, and, fuck, it dawned on me that this is why Apache loves her so, that for however icy and snappy and arrogant, in her heart, Halibel doesn't…_condescend?_' Lilinette said, her glance turning questioning. The Shinigami nodded, and she breathed out, hotly.

'Today, in there with Gin, it was like she saw in me the same thing that Stark once saw in me, and she was pushing me for it…Ya know, I didn't always talk like this,' she suddenly said. 'Honest,' she nodded to his frown. 'I remember I had words, once, towards the end. Stark taught them to me, but, by the end…There were words, grammar, sentences, books, _his_ texts but _my_ complete thoughts, like his and yours, not like the fragments of stuff that are running through my mind now. That's why he hates you so much, by the way,' she added, her bitter glance finding his. 'Cuz you got me stuck, without my body, and without my words. An' while the body seems to be coming, the words ain't.'

'You cannot know that,' Jushiro said, kindly, though the notion burned him to the depth. 'I find you a lot more coherent now than I did in the very beginning. And you do not say 'don't' instead of 'doesn't' anymore, either.'

'Nah, dude,' the Arrancar briskly refuted, suddenly standing up and walking past him, to look at the soup. 'I lived too long in Hueco Mundo, I learned too much from it and Grimm – for nothing more than the passage of time, sure, because I had sixteen years of human life and three centuries as Hollow, but I still stopped growing as the kid Stark knew, and who could have done the quiet smart he likes so much. I know I am bright enough for it, an' I certainly got strength, but time went and both my smarts and my power changed into something else than I was, back then.'

Jushiro did not look over his shoulder.

'Unohana Retsu got the quiet smart too?' she asked, making him stiffen.

'You've met her?' the Shinigami asked; the knowledge of the fact that Stark and Unohana-senpai shared…He shuddered, thinking of shared pillows, and shared food, and shared thought, and finding all unlikely, but not impossible, if she too was as dishonorable as he felt, if she could force herself to endure... The knowledge was too new for him to have come to terms with it. He wondered how Lilinette had come about it, then dismissed the thought, and, in the silence which stretched at the end of his question, he wondered how she coped.

'Met her for ten minutes,' Lilinette shrugged, walking back. 'Couldn't dislike her. Was utter crap.' She dryly stated, dropping back to the floor, and making him chuckle despite the fact that he could truly sense she was in pain.

'That was accurate and concise,' he remarked. 'You do not really need a lot of words, Lili, those you do have serve you well. Yes, Unohana Retsu has the quiet smart – your metaphor…'

'Wot?'

'Metaphor,' Jushiro laughed. 'A figure of speech in which a word or phrase is applied to an object or action that it does not literally denote in order to imply resemblance…'

'Ah. From Greek. _Meta_, as means. _Pherein,_ to bear. Means of bearing – things that bear meaning. Stark,' Lilinette clarified lightly pressing her fingers to her temple, and, for a moment, Jushiro remained quiet, distantly listening to the bubbling of the soup and mourning the loss of Lilinette's words.

'Your metaphor of the underground river describes Unohana Retsu fully.' He much later said. 'Would Stark…' he began, knowing that Lilinette did not deserve the additional pain of thinking of the answer he hoped for, but nonetheless finding himself dependent on her, 'would he hurt her? Would his hate of us all take such a path?'

'No,' she whimpered, giving him the answer that he sought, and paying the price that he truly did not mean to exact. 'No, he wouldn't hurt her. Quincy don't torture.' Lilinette said, flatly. 'She helped me today, too. I needed somewhere to keep the family of the officer Schiffer arrested safe; I thought Granz brought her up just to see if it irked me, but she was fast, kind an' sweet, and tho' it was just ten minutes, I have no doubt that she will keep them safe, and that even Granz respects it. Today, I learned why Stark loved Halibel, and I'm afraid I learned why he will come to love your Unohana Retsu as well – and since she ain't gone for Aizen by now, I think she'll stick, unless she's fucking him over, which she didn't seem the kind to… Stark would never hurt her. But, where does all that leave _me_?'

_Alone, _Jushiro thought. _It leaves you alone._

'Had you always meant to go back to him, once you had grown?' he asked.

'I don't remember anyone else,' Lilinette said. 'Where else would I go back to? How does this work?' she questioned. 'How does this work, how…how did it work for your dad?'

'My father…' Jushiro said, softly.

'Yeah, how could that work? So, he married a lady, they made love and she gave him _you,_ and she died for it – how then does he turn around, grab this other lady, and make enough love that she gives him six? An' if our lot hadn't eaten them, they sound like they could have bloody made a division. How does it work? How does Stark really love someone after loving me – and he did love me, beyond repair, he went to hell for me…How did your dad love someone after loving your mum, how? How is there life after love? Or did your dad never love your mum, and then loved the other lady, just like maybe Stark never loved me, just thought he did…how…'

'How does the soul not wither and die, amid so much pain and disappointment?' Jushiro asked back. 'Soup,' he said, getting up. 'I do not know,' he softly responded. 'I could attempt an answer and climb atop my older and wiser person pedestal, but, I really do not know.'

'I thought that once I was all grown up, he could see me again,' Lilinette whispered, not looking to him as he used a dented ladle to fill two of the surviving teacups with soup. 'Not see as in, that he's blind but…find me _new_, and meet me again, and that my novelty would make him consider me again. As his wife, not…'

The man posed the two teacups on the floor between them, and she lifted one to her lips.

'Not as a little asexual angel that he is bound to care for for all eternity, through human life, Hueco Mundo, and everything that lies in between and beyond.' Lilinette said, in returning words. She took a sip of the soup. 'It's _fishy,_ dude,' she smirked and Jushiro laughed.

'Sorry,' he shrugged. 'I guess it is; I might have put in a bit more miso paste than you'd like.'

'I've been having very weird dreams,' she suddenly said.

Jushiro took an expectant sip of his own soup.

'Weird dreams,' he prompted, a second later.

'Yuh.'

_Whispered words. A broken lock, and arches of fire rising from the darkness beyond it._

_Death._

_Sokyoku Hill crumbling under its own weight, as legions of winged creatures stormed the sky above, and a single figure towered hundreds of feet over the ruins. The magnificent white walls of Sereitei cracking and dissipating to dust, as nothingness and decay swallowed all in growing tides, and the sky itself darkened and cracked, as if it had been no more than a frail glass ceiling._

'The thing we're fighting needs someone to let it in,' Lilinette said. 'I have no idea why, but it needs some lock to be broken, so that it can…come in. I asked Grimm about them dreams, he calls 'em hell hangover, but they're not as bad as mine. Did you…?'

'No, nothing like that has manifested to me,' the man answered, in a shudder.

'Well, Stark's seen _it_ too. Fuck, are Hollow the only ones who have seen it?' she questioned, putting the tea cup down; the haste of her gesture had left him with no doubt over the fact that she'd only put the cup down for fear of spilling it.

_A lock,_ he thought. _Magic at work that still kept the essence of hell from invading._

'You are not tempted by it,' the man said, his hands remarkably steady. 'Stark is not tempted by it, either.'

'No, he ain't. He ain't tempted, in fact, he's just as scared of it as I am. I've seen him,' Lilinette said, looking at the floor, 'I went to him in our heart, and he answered, but he sorta let go, too…'

'For real, this time,' she whispered. 'He didn't wanna see me being _new_. He loves me, but at the same time...I dunno,' Lilinette said. He noted the fact that when she once again picked up the teacup, her hands were steady, and could only admire her resolve.

'He don't want me no more,' she whispered. 'He loves me, but he don't want me, an' I am growing, like we always wanted me to grow, just that I'm turning up to be something he can look at from afar, but not hold, an' since he is all I remember, I want him to want me…how…How does Stark love me enough to fight the weird dreams, but not wanna hold me? He thinks – move on – but, where do I go? He trusts that I constantly find places to go, and energy and joy in my heart…'

'But you do find them,' Jushiro interrupted. 'If you are anything, you are energy and joy.'

'Still I ain't quiet smart, nor strong and steady like you an' him.'

'You are you, Lili, you are…'

_Lost,_ the Shinigami thought, without saying. He drank the soup in one breath, and rose to get himself another cup, distantly wondering whether one of the shiitake mushroom strips would fit into the tea cup.

'You ever been in love?' the Hollow asked.

He scalded himself by pouring a bit of the soup on his fingers – in a practical and rational manner, he simply pulled the soup off the fire, not paying his hand any attention.

'A few times,' Jushiro answered, thinking of the small breasts of a woman others might have called a common whore, as she knelt before him – he'd found her on the streets, a few months before the day on which she'd knelt, he'd brought her home and cured her after a man he'd dearly wished to kill had taken her, then harmed what he'd taken. Jushiro had then wished that she would not expose herself to such men, but the girl who knew naught else but her flower name had ignored his wishes, and left, only to come back to him when, full of shame and unable to suppress his body any longer, he'd walked into a brothel…

The girl with the name of a flower had made love to him, though he'd been scared, unskilled, and on the verge of one of his attacks, and when his lust had been spent he'd yet again asked her to give it all up, and have confidence in his care, be his wife – and though the flower child had said no, Jushiro only remembered her breasts, and her utter generosity in not exposing him to a painful future they both intuited, but which he innocently dreamed he could ignore.

He remembered the warmth of Shiba Kukkaku's tears and body, when he'd spoken of her brother's death, and he remembered the closeness that only shared loss could provide; he remembered laughing, when Hinamori Momo had set his hair on fire in Kido training, and before a fire, he sat with Hinamori in his thoughts and in silent mourning of his own recognition of the fact that he could not love her as she deserved to be loved, though she'd been the only one who had not made him wish for death. He thought of Kuchiki Hisana, of her silences and abandon, he thought that, indeed, he'd been in love.

'A few times,' he repeated.

'So why are you still alone?' the little monster asked.

'Because I thought no woman deserved to be my nurse for all time,' he said, dryly, then finished his tea cup full of soup, thinking he'd had enough.

'Dude, that's…'

'The bonsai need to be replanted,' Jushiro whispered, standing up.

'That's irrational an' unkind an' cowardly to boot – I betcha nobody would have minded being weak, just cuz' you're such a brave, cool guy when you're not weak, an' actually, even when you are weak, you are great to be around, and even I wouldn't mind…'

'Come,' he said, standing over her and clutching for her wrist.

'Uki, you were totally not fair…You can't go around assuming stuff for people, especially for people you love…'

He pulled her up.

'Be that as it may, we need to see to the bonsai. Come.'

She came along, posing little resistance to being dragged to the porch, though by now he was aware she could have. They filled the metallic pots with fresh earth which smelled of sorrow, and put the small, stinted plants in their places; he pressed down upon the earth, and her little fingers, setting it all in, one miniature tree after the other, in her offended silence. The night was crisp and clear, as was the fact that he had never been brave enough to love those who'd loved him, and the simple truth that she knew it.

Lilinette had pointy shoulders, but thick, full lips, he thought.

'Now that Halibel has the Omnitskido…' Lilinette said, as they put the last bonsai, a small weeping willow, straight, and he held it upright while she pressed the earth around its frail trunk and roots; Ukitake Jushiro thought and felt little else but the warmth of her hands, in damp soil.

'She's on to them,' the Arrancar said. 'She's onto whomever is making his explosives, she an' Granz found them before they could set up properly…fuck…'

Her hands were warm, underneath the layer of soil above the bonsai's roots. Her nails were dirty and uneven.

'He…Hayoto needs to be careful.' She whispered, as the Shinigami's fingers pressed hers, and the roots of the small, stinted plant down. 'Tell him to be careful, cuz she ain't like Ulquiorra, she's vicious fast and she thinks and moves fast; in another world, Hayoto would like her, for sure, but in this one…tell him to look out.'

'I told Hayoto where the confiscated zanpakutoh are,' the Shinigami said, pressing on her hands to keep them in place. 'I apologise. I learned about their location on the night when you came to me and asked me to help with the paperwork – the requisition and maintenance files you showed me were enough of a hint. I apologise for having done it, but I believed it necessary, and you once told me you understand I will not stop fighting _him_. I, however, don't want to lie to you anymore, Lilinette,' Ukitake Jushiro whispered, sinking his own fingers into the damp soil, and making his nails dirty as he kept her hands from withdrawing. 'You are not my enemy. Only Aizen is an enemy…'

Her full lips turned surprisingly thin as she looked up, and her fingers ceased their escape attempts.

'He is an enemy to us all,' Lilinette whispered, closing her eye, and seeing things he wished she'd never seen, while re-fighting battles neither of them should ever have fought.

The little monster's fingers posed no resistance to his slipping amid them, in the damp soil, and the weeping willow stood a little crooked to the right.

* * *

Up Next - My oh my, this sounds like a rebellion! Wonder if Grimmjow's unparalleled charm will convince Shunsui of the same...


	63. Advanced Vocabulary

Hello, hello -

Thank you for all the appreciation, reading, fave-ing; here we go for Chapter 63

Where - Shunsui gets what Lilinette and Grimmjow got a lot faster.

* * *

_So this, then, is how everything goes to fuck._

It was precisely the level of a liquor bottle when Grimmjow got philosophical – sort of a quarter of the way in, a couple of inches below the bottle's neck. Yeah, the Sexta thought, tilting the bottle to the side and squinting to assess how much of it he had left. That was just about right.

Normally, this was also the point where he downed as much as he could in a single gulp, just to rush by the moment when he got fucking philosophical and could return to being angry; yet, for some reason, tonight it felt like the bottle had been one with one of those darned plastic dosage corks – and if Grimmjow ever found out what stupid human had invented those blasted plastic contraptions, he'd make sure to chase him across all of Soul Society...or more likely, Hueco Mundo or bloody fucking Hell, and make sure that the idiot who would invent anything as frustrating as that would have the cycle of their incarnations finished, right here and now.

Tonight, the liquor simply didn't flow as fast as the Sexta wanted it to.

He lied back on the roof of the 3rd 's Captain's quarters, simply glancing up at the full moon, and wishing it had been crescent, and that the smooth angles of tiled roofs and foaming foliage of green trees would give way to the sterile, rounded backs of sand dunes. At least then, the world had been simple. On the other hand, there'd been no liquor, he considered, taking a swig of the bottle.

_Fucking trade-offs_.

'Yo,' he muttered, sensing Apache on the porch below.

'Yo,' she returned, in an equally dry manner. The Tercera Fraccion lifted herself over the ledge of the roof, then drifted forward, without hurrying to land by his side. He measured her through half lidded eyes, and though he didn't go through the effort of sitting up, he nonetheless made the irresistible offer of the bottle. Apache hesitated for a moment, but then gently descended to his side, sitting down and leaning back on her arms. Though she accepted the bottle, and took a generous mouthful, grimacing horribly as she swallowed, she did not hurry to speak.

Instead, she put her hand on his chest, smiled as he put his hand on her thigh, and joined him in looking at the moon.

'Never thought I'd be sad to see the fucker go,' Grimmjow spoke, at long length.

The fact that she was sharing the bottle made it difficult to assess how far past the philosophical level he'd gone.

'Neither did I,' Apache answered. 'That ya'd be sad to see the fucker go,' she chuckled, a moment later.

Though the official announcement would only be made in a few days, once the entire racket about the 3rd had died down, the news that Schiffer would be replaced from the command of the Omnitskido had spread through Sereitei like a wildfire in dry grass. The meeting in which Aizen's decision had been communicated had also been one of the few New Central meetings that Grimmjow would have described as _short an' sweet_ – no posturing, no lengthy explanations, no nothing, really. Just – Schiffer's out, Halibel's in - Aizen-sama delivered, end of business, thank you all for attending.

'It was like half a fucking day, babe,' Grimmjow said.

Half a day from the moment when Schiffer had been standing in the antechamber of the 3rd, wielding the full power of the Omnitskido and Aizen's authority, and fully willing and able to yank the floor from under Lilinette and Grimmjow's feet, and the moment when he'd been sitting in New Central being...nothing at all.

'It weren't half a day,' Apache softly refuted. 'He had it long in coming.'

'Yeah, I guess so, but...'

The summons to New Central hadn't really been unexpected; when Lilinette had returned from the 1st, looking as if she'd seen a ghost, and immediately ordering Takeshi's release, Grimmjow hadn't cared to inquire further. It wasn't that he hadn't been happy, though he'd not really been eager to show it, to either Lilinette or Takeshi himself. It had simply been that he _really_ didn't want to know what had happened at the 1st, or why Lilinette had looked so out of sorts though she'd clearly scored a major victory for the team, and taken another loss of her own. Grimmjow had just assumed the thing over, he'd selfishly wanted it over, so that he wouldn't have to think about it anymore.

He'd only answered Central summons because when they'd come through, Lilinette had been nowhere in sight, and nobody seemed to have seen her in hours, either. Grimmjow had cursed even more than his regular vaunt, but though he'd had half a mind to send some hapless dude – 10th seat Yoshi always sprang to mind along with the word hapless – to go and fetch her from the 13th Division grounds, where she had the habit of hiding, the Sexta had contented himself on cursing more and heading in by himself.

Somehow, in the spirit of fairness, he'd figured Lili had had enough of them all for one day, and that since Takeshi was already out, there'd be little need to do anything else than sit and give half arsed responses to anything that might come his way. Nobody expected more out of him, anyway, and nothing could have prepared him for what he'd been about to witness.

He took another generous mouthful of the drink, which felt both bitter and useless; the bloody philosophical line kept slipping lower and lower. He pulled Apache closer, putting his arm around her hips and pressing his hand on her bottom; she grinned.

'Halibel-sama and Szayel Aporro had it cookin' for Ulquiorra for weeks, Grimm,' Apache said. 'An' it didn't come a moment too soon for me...'

'Yeh, babe, but you wasn't there to see it,' Grimmjow answered. 'I mean, don't get me wrong, I ain't sad to see him go, but damn, the way he went...'

_Lanza del Relampago, light shooting quickly in the dark..._

'I always imagined I'd like to see the ol' bat with his wings torn off, Apache, but just crushed...Was just _unfair_ that Aizen-sama would turn on him like that – what with, he didn't even get to put a word in, and with Ichimaru grinning like mad in the background...Szayel Aporro gloating like only he can gloat, an' Halibel an' Stark, well..._he _fucking solemnly shook _her_ hand when they left the room, an' he was smilin' like I ain't ever seen him smiling...Cat who got the cream type-o-thing.'

The Sexta shook his head.

'Like all of them are speakin' some sort of language I don't get, babe, like...'

He swallowed dry, and drank more, swiftly passing her the bottle, in the form of a none too subtle invitation.

'...like there's some sort of code, some sort of weapon that I don't see...'

Apache snorted, and chocked, a trickle of liquor coming out through her nose, but though she once more grimaced horribly, she didn't stop laughing. 'Ya scared,' she flatly declared.

'Oh for fuck's sake, woman!' Grimmjow growled, scowling menacingly and putting his sharp canines on display.

'You are too,' the girl continued to laugh, and remaining thoroughly unimpressed by his display. 'If I was in ya shoes, I'd be thinkin' the same,' Apache added, holding the bottle between her knees. 'If Halibel-sama can do it to Ulquiorra, without even drawin' her sword, she can do it to anyone,' the Fraccion clarified, with no small amount of pride.

'Ain't ya cute,' Grimmjow muttered, sitting up just briefly enough to snatch the bottle.

And she was, he thought, looking at her through the corner of his eyes.

'But you're wrong,' he concluded, stretching back down. 'It's not that I'm scared. Just that...'

The moon above continued to be stubborn and round.

'When ya were an Adjucha, Apache,' he began, turning on his side, 'did ya wanna get Vasto Lorde?'

She frowned, considering the question.

'Nope,' she shrugged, a second later. 'I mean, not like I was chasing it or summat. Why?' she frowned.

'How's that, tho'?' Grimmjow frowned in turn; it hadn't occurred to him to ask the question before.

''Cuz,' Apache shrugged again. 'It didn't mean nothin' to me. What I wanted to grow up to be, though,' she dreamily added, her round face lighting up, 'was Halibel-sama.'

It was Grimmjow's turn to snort. 'That's kinda the same, smart-ass,' he laughed.

'No, it ain't,' Apache scowled back, her steel coloured eye narrowed to a sword's blade. 'There's a big difference between Vasto Lorde Apache,' she added, in an artificially hoarse voice, 'an' Halibel-sama.'

'Yeh, no kiddin'' the Sexta smirked, leaving no doubt over which of the two he preferred. Unlike usually, when she scowled back at him and huffed something or other about how _great_ Halibel-sama was, Apache looked at him attentively, and with no trace of annoyance.

'Look, dude, I know you don't have Halibel-sama to heart,' she said, lifting the bottle to only take a tentative sip. 'But she got...Dunno...she's smarter than Sun-Sun, prettier than Mira Rose an' faster than me – she got everything I think ya like about me...'

'Nah, _dude_, when I see Halibel goin' head first at somethin' that's bigger than her, I'll let ya know,' the Sexta briskly refuted.

'What d'ya think she did today?' Apache frowned. 'What d'ya think she's been doing ever since she started to have a go at Schiffer?'

'It ain't...'

'How ain't it the same thing?' the Fraccion muttered. 'Just cuz it's about brains and not about kicking? And you know all too well she can do kick-ass, and she's more kick-ass than you an' me both. So cut it out, eh?'

Recognising a lost argument before it even began, Grimmjow sighed, and looked away.

'Now who's hormonal?' Apache laughed, earning herself a glare that could have set the entire division grounds on fire. 'I win,' she laughed, pulling closer.

He grunted something incomprehensible, which was for the best, and thought himself off his own hook; he had no idea why he'd started that line of conversation, anyway – maybe, Grimmjow thought, the fact that he'd somehow suspected it would end up precisely here was why he'd never asked Apache about her Adjucha expectations before.

'So, why'd you ask now?'

'Flipping heck,' Grimmjow cursed.

'Wot?' she frowned.

'I hate you women – ya inside my head or something?' he growled, sitting up. Apache glanced at him as if she'd never seen him before, slowly raised her right hand to the height of her temple, then meaningfully paused before starting to rapidly wave her fanned out fingers.

'Coo-coo,' she helpfully translated.

'I was just thinking why I'd asked,' he snarled. 'When, ya know, ya asked why I asked.'

'More coo-coo?' Apache prompted.

'If you was a dude, I'd punch you,' he warned.

'An' then ya'd be spittin' teeth, ha,' the Fraccion snorted – Grimmjow felt his stomach relaxing without his permission, and laughed without knowing why. Apache chuckled in return, and gently pushed the bottle his way. The Sexta truthfully considered the offer, yet, though he accepted it a second later, he gave up all notions of drinking himself past the philosophical line.

'Ya know all I did as an Adjucha was wanting to be Vasto Lorde,' he said.

'A-yuh,' Apache shrugged.

'But when it came, I didn't do it,' Grimmjow continued, staring into the golden fluid. 'An' I was so ashamed that I didn't that I even lied to fucking Kurosaki about it, bloody hell...'

'Yeh, ya are what ya are,' Apache grinned, in the panther's shadow. It did not help, and somehow she knew it did not. 'No shame in lovin' your crew,' she added, slipping her fingers inside his Hollow hole. 'None at all.'

'I still got 'em killed in the end,' he said, slowly and carefully.

The girl glanced at him, the round moon reflecting in her oddly coloured eyes.

'But ya respect them still, an' you take them with ya as ya go,' she noted, shifting her gaze to her toes. 'They are as much a part of you as they could've been if ya ate them and became Vasto Lorde. Ya gotta know that, right?'

'I'm doin' it again,' he whispered. 'Same thing, all over again.'

'Why, babe, how...' Apache asked, truly not understanding.

He shook his head.

'I can see it, right?' Grimmjow muttered. 'I can see this code, this weapon, this..._thing_ that Szayel Aporro, an' Stark, an' Halibel, an' now even Lili get and use. Just like I could see Vasto Lorde just beyond the blood of my crew. I know that if I'd eaten them, I'd have gotten it, just like I know I am smart enough to learn this language them weavers share...But I don't want it. I really don't want it, even though I know that it would have been easier on Lili if I was different, and that Takeshi an' all of them needed me to be different, too...though I know I let them all down, just like I let the boys down, _I_ still don't want it, so I'm not trying for it. I'm just sitting here, drinking and bitching about the one thing that I'll never change.'

She laughed, her straight horn poking at the sky.

'So ya ain't afraid of Halibel-sama screwing you over like she did batty, ya afraid of being followed, check,' Apache said. 'That,' she added, 'puts you _waaay _ below Halibel-sama. Ha-ha! Dude! Chicken,' she taunted. 'Why don't ya get that the one thing that you won't change about yourself keeps us all comin' back?'

'I like following Halibel-sama because I simply wanna grow to be _her,_ and I keep followin' cuz I'll never be her. But I always know she needs me - she keeps me around because she knows that my instinct's true; because when her dose of insanity grows low, she checks on me; when her dose of pretty grows low she checks on Mira Rose, and when she ain't bright enough for anything, she checks on Sun-Sun – we ain't got the meld, the mix, the balance, tho. She does. It's that she is all three of us, but none of us fully, and we know it. We are her strength as much as she's our flipping aspiration, and that drives us all forth. Why ya scared of that?'

'Lili only wishes that she could be as honest as you,' Apache followed. 'Takeshi wishes that he was as strong as you, I bet; ya crew,' she whispered, 'loved ya 'cuz you were the sum of them all, an' I love ya, I love ya,' she repeated, as if it were nothing, 'because you never notice none of that, and you are what you are, unapologetic and true. Quit whining like a bitch, an' let other people do _some_ work for a change.' She said, unexpectedly cupping his testicles and drinking as if the dosage cork and the philosophical line had never been invented.

_I need to drink more, too,_ Grimmjow concluded; the skyline burnt with reiatsu-less flames.

* * *

The scene of the 3rd Division to which Kyoraku Shunsui, 3rd seat Takeda Onishi, and a group of fifteen 8th Divison Shinigami arrived for the scheduled sweep into the human world, was one of utter chaos. The division grounds seemed deserted, and the entire energy of the quarter seemed to be concentrated in a single area, where reiatsu-less fires were wrecking havoc.

Without bothering to assure himself that the 3rd's Captain's quarters were indeed empty, Shunsui shadow-stepped in the direction of the fires, casting a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure that Takeda was following. Vague rumours of the previous night's events had reached the 8th as well, but they'd oddly indicated that the attempts had caused no damage to the division grounds. Even if that had been a propaganda lie, Shunsui had reasoned, the damage would have been contained by now, and the only Arrancar pattern he could detect in the midst of a raft of Shinigami energies was Grimmjow's own.

The density of presences was such that the Shinigami captain found it hard to stop his Shumpo without trampling any of the others; more conscious, or perhaps less confident in their control of their shadow step, Takeda and the rest of the 8th Division company stopped just short of the fires, leaving their captain in the unpleasant and awkward position of standing in between two distinctly irate groups of 3rd Division Shinigami, and unpleasantly close to the explosively irate Sexta.

Grimmjow's reiatsu flares indicated that he was very close to giving up on whatever he'd been trying to do to keep the two Shinigami groups separated, release his sword, and re-establish order as only he could.

'...so that's what ya proposin'?' the Sexta had been growling, to a Shinigami he'd been holding by the chest of the uniform. 'Go out an' rape an' pillage?'

'We know it_ has_ to be one of them!' the man growled back, with more courage than Shunsui thought was wise. 'It has to be the ones that we've recently allowed back - first, they tried to attack all of us by attacking you, and now that they've failed...'

'Are ya fucking deaf? That was not the question!' Grimmjow shouted, shaking the man with enough force to rip him limb from limb. 'What do ya...'

'Grimmjow-sama!' another Shinigami intervened. 'They abused our trust...'

'I asked ya if ya wanted to go rape and pillage!' the Sexta repeated, pushing the man he was holding a step back, and causing the entire group to retreat. 'So, they went after Takeshi's house – ya wanna go blow up their houses, now? 'Cuz whatever y'all wanna do, I'm down with it – not with the rape, as ya got me at a bad time an' my woman's around, but hell, I'm down for the pillage, an' I can hold the door on the rape too, an' at least watch – is that what you want? Ha?'

'Er,' a thoroughly stunned Shunsui attempted to intervene.

'Kyoraku-sama!' one of the other group spoke, stepping up. 'The behaviour of the 3rd...'

'Don't you dare speak of the 3rd! You have joined our banner with the single purpose of attacking us from within!' the opposing side blurted, through the voice of one that was hidden in the crowd. 'This will not be tolerated – you will tell us the name of the person who did this!'

'We do not know it!' a hate laden voice from the other group sneered.

'The hell you do not! And you will speak it, else...'

'We are not _all_ traitors here,' one of the recruits hissed - not giving Shunsui the chance of getting any additional bearings, Grimmjow furiously let go of the Shinigami he was holding, tossing him back, and turned around, his haste and his obvious anger making the other group withdraw in turn.

'Oh, ya keep mouthin' off, if ya want me to stop I stop stallin' and get on your case as well, you backstabbing bastards!' the Sexta hissed, only granting Shunsui a passing glance. 'You're on a thin line, so watch yourselves before I let these guys at ya! Fucking hell! Dontcha flippin' imagine that I don't know it was one of you!' Grimmjow followed, making the group take another step back. 'Dontcha imagine I don't know the rest of you don't know who done it!'

To Shunsui's surprise, some, but not all of the group recoiled further; the warm, crackling fire set the Sexta's Hollow jaw into new light.

'Ya lot tried to kill me an' Lili,' Grimmjow said, rousing some murmurs of protest which were only met with fury and disdain. 'No, _fuck you_, all of y'all who tried, and all of y'all who knew they was gonna try – y'all fucking tried. An' if it'd stopped there, I might even have respected ya for it, you bloody single minded idiots! Sure, ya wanna kill me, ya wanna kill Lili, an' ya wanna do it in our sleep cuz you ain't got no balls, but at least ya followin' a line. But – what the _fuck _is this?' he shouted, the erratic wave of his arm towards the reiatsu deprived fires causing both Shinigami groups to slip back, and Shunsui to hold on his straw hat. 'What the _fuck?_ Takeshi is one of you. He's not one of mine – you'd blow up his house?_'_

'That's not what they did,' another nameless voice called from behind Grimmjow. 'They tried to kill his family, they...'

'...yeh, they went at all of us,' the Sexta uttered, in a deep, animal growl, looking at the Shinigami before him through narrowed eyes. 'Not only Takeshi and his brood, but the whole of the 3rd – cuz if the Omnistkido gets wind of this, we're gonna be right back where we was this morning!'

To Kyoraku Shunsui, Grimmjow Jagguerjaques breathed in fire, and breathed out lava before he spoke again.

'Ulquiorra wanted _us_ decimated, an' maybe Halibel's gonna think it would make for a fine first day on the job to go through with it - that's the one reason, an' the _only_ reason why I'm stopping you from getting at each others and stirring up shit again. Otherwise I'd stand to the side an' enjoy the show... I do not give a crap if ya think Takeshi was wrong in stopping them who tried to kill me, and I don't care who you really work for. What I find fucking hilarious is that ya lot are as ruthless an' predatory as any of us and that you got no fucking mental barrier in going after your own, but you'd turn your nose at _me_ for eating other Hollow...'

'For your information,' Grimmjow breathed, 'they wasn't home. An' he wasn't home either – they're all at the 4th, not knowing that they're gonna come back and beg for a roof. So, ya blew up an empty house, in trying to kill one of your own – intended kill, threat, warning...whatever the hell you wanted to do, ya failed, and that's the end of that, cuz there ain't gonna be no third coming. I'll see to that. This is the fucking end.'

'An' what made _you_ grow fangs all of a sudden?' he continued, whipping past Shunsui and fiercely turning towards his own group – unlike the smaller company of new recruits, the Shinigami of the original 3rd stood their ground. 'So, them new lot may be fucks, acknowledged. They're lying to us, check. And I have no doubt that one of them blew up Takeshi's house, but – have _you_ gone fucking bonkers? D'ya wanna go out an' blow up their houses? With their wives an' kids inside? Maybe ya just wanna lynch the lot of them, and leave maybe two or three women crying without knowing why? That's what Ulquiorra was gonna do anyways and that's what I'd do – I wouldn't fucking think twice, heck, women always cry, it's with the hormones, just kill their men an' think ya doing _good_. Have all of you lost the plot so much that you wanna be me?' Grimmjow asked, his Hollow jaw glowing orange with heat and passion that Shunsui recognised. 'Do you lot fucking want to turn into me? _Shinigami?_'

'Grimmjow-sama...' one of the Shinigami officers attempted to interrupt; the hatred between the two groups still hung heavily in the air, though the momentum had obviously been lessened; the Sexta shook his head, and spat at the ground, giving the small assembly of new Shinigami a glance that spoke louder than even his perpetually explosive vocabulary.

'Fuck you. Cowards.' Grimmjow said, in the arid silence that followed. The group shifted, and most placed their hands on their swords' hilts – the gesture made the Sexta grit his teeth with a mixture of fury and disgust. 'Ah, _now _you wanna come at me?' he snarled. 'Careful, boys, I'm awake,' he taunted - the entire company behind him drifted an eager step forth, preparing to draw in turn. Instinct caused both Shunsui and Takeda to come forward, their backs protectively turned to the smaller group – still, the Captain securely grabbed the officer's wrist, preventing him from drawing, and resolutely stretched the scabbard of his own sword to the side, barring their advance.

'Enough,' he resolutely said, without looking over his shoulder. 'Enough.'

The two groups, one made of eighty and one made of barely fifteen stood in awkward balance as Kyoraku Shinsui and Grimmjow Jagguerjaques measured each other through narrowed eyes. The Shinigami nodded, slowly and purposefully, then lowered his sword arm.

_Enough._

The Sexta hesitated for a second further – and though Shunsui knew little about Grimmjow, he grasped the fury of the battle which the Arrancar was waging against his own temper. He, of course, could not guess that it was, perhaps, the first time when the temper did not prevail.

'Handle _these_, Shinigami,' Grimmjow hissed, looking Shunsui straight in the eyes, but still briskly gesturing towards the new recruits of the 3rd. 'I don't care how, but you bloody handle them before I change my mind. I know that whoever did this is among them. They ain't gonna be talking; at this point, I don't really give a crap. Take'em, give'em a medal for their great work here, or set them loose in Rukongai, but get _your_ fuckers out of my face before they land _my_ people in more trouble.'

Shunsui nodded.

'No repercussions?' he redundantly asked, sustaining Takeda's disbelieving glance.

The two groups still stood in improbable balance.

'None.' Grimmjow dryly responded, sniffing at the cool breeze. 'Just get your shit out of my fight for survival. If they wanna fight me an' Lili, tell them to go, and get the balls to fight us. Tell 'em to just be gone. Fuck you lot,' he added, looking over Shunsui's shoulder, and spitting again. 'Takeshi risked all that he was worth, and Lili sold her heart. Not for me, but for you. Fuck you. Put the fire out,' he grunted towards one of his officers. 'We go in half an hour.' He stalked away, cutting a wide path through the middle of his group, and scattering them.

The former captain of the 8th breathed out, still wondering what he had just witnessed, and not entirely sure of how he should have proceeded. He was even unsure of what he actually felt. For a moment, he shut the fires and the moving shadows around him out, and attempted to focus.

The sensation he was experiencing distinctly odd, and, Shunsui distantly considered, one that Jushiro had always been better equipped to dealing with.

_Doubt?_ He wondered, drawing another deep breath. _Yes,_ he admitted to himself, but a second later. He'd never been adept at dealing with doubt, not unless he'd been able to extrapolate it into some form of sharp irony, which, granted, had never presented too much difficulty. And, Shunsui reckoned, lowering the brim of his hat to disguise what he assumed must have been a thoroughly dumb grin, he should have been able to extract the mother of all ironies from this particular situation.

For some reason, he wasn't.

'Kyoraku-sama...' a voice he did not recognise said, from the group that was still standing behind him. Shunsui straightened his hat.

'To your knowledge,' he said, only turning by half, and not really looking to meet any glances, 'has any other division been dispatched to the human world today?'

The utter silence of the group was obvious, despite the noise that the others, who'd begun to see to the fire, were making.

'No,' another voice Shunsui didn't recognise responded, at length.

'Well, maybe _we_ should think about that next time,' he said, dryly, and finally turning around to face them in full. 'Takeda.'

The officer stood to attention.

'Inform Nanao-chan to make arrangements,' Shunshi dreamily said – Takeda frowned, and questioningly glanced at his captain. 'I trust you will be able to return in half an hour. Pyrotechnics are not well regarded by the shadow command of the 8th,' he added, in an indifferent tone, distractedly scrutinising the group before him, and even thinking that he recognised a few of them. 'Endangering the rest of our already reduced effective will not be well regarded by me. That's all.'

The fire had been put out, allowing Shunsui a glimpse at the sky – he once more shut out the movement around him, while conceding to the fact that though the world around him was full of sharp ironies, looking for them now would be utterly pointless. He remembered Takeshi Enryuu, and even distinctly remembered the unpleasant chill he'd felt when he'd first observed the interaction between the Shinigami officers of the 3rd Division, and their shadow commanders. An unpleasant chill...But a death wish? He certainly hadn't felt that, with time, even the chill had faded.

The Shinigami of the 3rd were not loyal to their shadow commanders because they hoped to keep themselves safe, or because they'd forgotten their Shinigami duties. They were loyal to their shadow commanders for a reason far simpler than that, one that was older than time, and one that Shunsui Kyoraku had just been reminded of.

They were loyal because their commanders were fiercely loyal to them.

He wondered what Jushiro would have made of that.

* * *

Up next - I think Uki caught on before Shunsui. He still has to deal with Stark, though...


	64. Creeping Near

No, we have not vanished :)

MerryKitten, that link was a virus - apologies!

With that, we thank you for reading and commenting, ./bow to you for following us, and welcome to Chapter 64 -

Where Stark and Ukitake stop arguining. (Don't worry, it is only temporary)

* * *

_Hello darkness, my old friend,_  
_I've come to talk with you again_  
_Because a vision softly creeping_  
_Left its seeds while I was sleeping_  
_And the vision _  
_that was planted in my brain_  
_Still remains, w__ithin the sound of silence._

-Simon & Garfukel, Sound of Silence

* * *

'I wouldn't...' Findor hastily said, stepping across Ukitake's path – the Shinigami smiled, and gave the visibly alarmed Fraccion a small greeting bow.

Though Ukitake's house arrest orders had been loosely observed of late, and even, as far as Findor was concerned, tacitly overlooked on quite a few occasions in recent weeks, the Shinigami had observed his part of the unspoken truce by keeping well away from the 13th Division's captain quarters, unless he'd been directly summoned.

'Apologies,' Ukitake innocently shrugged. Despite the fact that he was genuinely thoughtful, he found Findor's obvious alarm, as well as the fact that he'd used Sonido to bar his path, mildly amusing. 'I truly need to speak to him. Is he sleeping?' he asked, nonetheless inching past the Fraccion and heading for the corridor which led to Stark's office.

'No, but...' Findor began, starting on Ukitake's trail. Just a few months before, after the attack on Stark, he'd only been able to make his way into what had started to resemble the Primera's new Hollow lair by near threat of force. Now, Findor merely appeared flustered, and despite the fact that the reconstructed captain's quarters distinctly resembled a western edifice, with tall, heavy doors, deep red carpets and oddly shaped, very ornate chairs, the thick drapes which had previously fully covered the windows had gone as well.

And...

_There was music._

The Shinigami stopped short and frowned deeply. Behind tall, thick doors, flutes and violins shyly sang of joy, reminding him of uncertain spring mornings, when flowers bloomed under the threat of frost.

'That is not exacta. The Monsignor is not sleeping. He is practicing,' Findor completed, in a voice that oddly seemed to indicate that interrupting Stark's..._music?..._might have been more dangerous than waking him up.

'An entire orchestra?' Ukitake asked, arching a disbelieving eyebrow – the faint sounds which escaped from behind the Primera's heavy doors were not the work of a single instrument.

'The offices of the former 5th Division Captain Hirako Shinji held an interesting human device, which, upon inspection by the 12th Division, proved to be a...'

The Fraccion took a deep breath; Ukitake unwillingly prepared himself for the worst.

'...a magnetic turntable console, otherwise known as a gramophone, with electronically controlled linear tracking and magnetic cartridges, for use with CD-4 quadraphonic 4 channel sound.' Findor recited, in a single breath. 'I do not understand anything of what I have just said, Ukitake Jyuushiro. Further clarification would not be exacta; however, it has been indicated that further upgrades to the device are possible, and the 12th Division...'

'Could implement them?' Ukitake vaguely guessed.

'No, but that they think us _medieval_ for not seeking to obtain them,' Findor answered, shrugging as if to indicate that the word medieval meant very little to him as well. 'The Primera Espada Stark-sama will not agree to see you.' The Fraccion said, simply, once more reverting to his habit of switching ideas in mid-subject.

Ukitake nodded and lowered his glance, considering for a few seconds.

'I had also intended to thank you for your actions on the night of the attack on my sister, Carias Findor,' he said, attempting to smile kindly – while he was in his basic form, the blonde Arrancar's face was almost fully covered by his mask. Still, the tiny change in his posture betrayed enough; the Fraccion shifted minutely to the side, and lowered his glance in turn. 'Thank you,' the Shinigami repeated. The change in his demeanour was far more noticeable now, and Findor took a full step back.

'My actions were performed under the Primera Espada Stark-sama's orders. He...The Monsignor will not appreciate your gratitude, Ukitake Jyuushiro,' Findor said, retreating towards his desk.

Surprisingly clear and present notes, played in perfect sequence with the vague echoes of the recorded orchestra resounded from behind the tall, closed doors of the Primera's study. They sounded, felt and tasted like summer rain.

'May I wait until his practice is over?' Ukitake asked, thinking of the fact that Lilinette, loved this man's hands, and hating himself for not being able to hate the image, in the wake of the sound.

_At least that was not new to her. I,_ Jyuushiro thought, _still have to learn it._

'He will not appreciate your gratitude,' Findor repeated, nonetheless sitting down.

'I already know that you are here. Ukitake. And I want you to leave, I have only despise for you, I...' Stark's voice said.

The sound, feel and taste of summer rain stopped, leaving Ukitake to stand between a very exact Arrancar, who eyed him briefly through the slants in his mask, and a tall, alien door. Carias Findor began shuffling papers, leaving the Shinigami no other choice but to brave the door, and what lied beyond it; he pushed the doors open, and there were flowers, everywhere.

Not just any flowers.

Flowers which held Unohana's touch, in every stem of grass and in every colour, in every well chosen vase, and in every kept meaning; Jyuushiro wanted to draw a deep breath, and the breath stung.

The room in which Ukitake emerged, beyond the doors he bravely pushed open had nothing to do with any room he was accustomed to.

Floor to ceiling windows, deprived of light forbidding drapes stood all around, spreading warm light upon the white, enamelled instrument Ukitake did not truly recognise, and that the Primera had just stood away from.

_Under the Hollow's touch, the instrument made sounds that tasted like rain, and Unohana-senpai's flowers were everywhere, amid this enemy's scattered books, musical sheets and half empty, forgotten glasses._

Stark headed for the corner of the room, lifting the arm of an odd, little metallic creation from the shiny black disk which spun beneath it; with the gesture, the sound of flutes and violins stopped as well, and, despite the wide windows and flowers, the Primera's energy suddenly returned the chamber to the status of his lair. The Arrancar remained silent, crossing his arms over his chest and letting his narrowed eyes and malevolent reiatsu speak for him. He'd already said all that he was willing to say, Ukitake thought, sensing that once more, his presence had dragged Stark away from the world the Primera had dreamed for himself, and into a reality he had no control over.

Into a reality that none of them had any control over.

'You dream of terrible things, Stark,' Ukitake said, turning around in full to resolutely close the door behind him. 'Lilinette told me so,' the Shinigami slowly followed, watching the others' human jaw grow tense, while bleached bone ascended to cover it.

_Leave. _

The word was not uttered – it nonetheless grew about them both, filling the air in Ukitake's chest with sharp fangs.

'I will kill you, one day,' Stark said instead. The Shinigami held his breath, and sustained his glance.

'No, you will not,' he gently answered. 'I'm sorry,' Ukitake added, knowing that the words brought no comfort. Knowing he was treading not through the other man's fury, but through the vast ocean of his pain, Ukitake walked to the centre of the room, looking at the floor and trying to find a place to sit in the massive disorder of book piles. He distantly remembered having knocked one of them over with his ankle, once, at the beginning of a year which felt as if had stretched out for decades - this time, he leaned on one knee and kindly pushed the books aside, before settling. 'I am sorry,' he repeated, feeling as if he were apologising to the rows of alien, horizontal letters.

Stark pressed his un-gloved fingers to his forehead.

Like a separate, physical entity, their hatred of each other stood beside them – so present, that Ukitake wondered whether it would actually take on a face, and what it might have looked like. For the first time, however, the elongated, dark shadow did not truly dwell within them.

'Hollow do not have an inner spirit plane,' Stark tiredly began. 'Myself and Lilinette share something that I suspect is akin to that, but _it_ cannot manifest there.'

The Shinigami nodded.

'That is why, you suspect, we are not having these dreams,' Ukitake nodded.

'Retsu does not,' Stark simply said; the ease and familiarity with which the Arrancar had spoken Unohana's name should have given Ukitake pause, but it did not.

'Have you asked her?' he inquired.

'She sleeps in my arms almost every night. If her dreams were anything like mine, I would know. By the fact that you are here, I assume you do not have them either, thus...'

Both men fell silent for a moment.

'Or,' Stark picked up, striding over to one of his ornate chairs and sitting down, 'the manifestation has nothing to do with the existence of an inner spirit plane, but good old Hollow assimilation.' The Shinigami frowned questioningly, prompting an ironic grin. 'Every time she fires in _metraletta, _Lilinette is literally taking a bite out of _it. _Every time that I used my reiatsu absorption on a demon, I also literally take a bite out of _it._' He clarified. Despite himself, Ukitake shifted uncomfortably, making Stark sneer.

'Go on, _Shinigami_,' he said, in a low growl. 'Ask me what you want to know and you wouldn't want to ask Lilinette – is it normal for such small quantities to disturb the dominant soul of a Vasto Lorde?'

Ukitake brought himself to nod.

'No,' Stark answered, in the same tone. 'No, it is not. Even if it has massively grown in proportion and strength, Lilinette's metraletta cannot possibly burn enough to challenge _us_, while I have not encountered anything like the first manifestation, so my own consumption of its reiatsu is accidental and environmental only.'

'The problem is that it is not acting…naturally,' Stark continued, in a somewhat less aggressive tone. 'It is not actually struggling for control – have you had your tea, Ukitake?' he cruelly snickered. 'And how much of a strong stomach do you have?'

'I don't understand,' the Shinigami replied, shaking his head.

'I am about to do you a kindness and explain what happens when a Vasto Lorde consumes another Vasto Lorde. Another thing you'd likely not want to hear from Lilinette.' Stark said, grinning cruelly; Ukitake swallowed dry, but steeled himself and nodded.

'When one consumes an entity of equal strength,' the Primera began to explain, looking out his tall windows, and into the distance, and probably realising how alien these world still sounded in Sereitei's air, 'it's not the end of the battle. In fact, it is only a quarter of it – the reiatsu of a Vasto Lorde carries their consciousness as well, thus even though they are dead in body, one needs to slay them again, in mind; while the battle lasts, one sees glimpses of their memories, loses parts of one's own…Every component of identity becomes a field of combat – physical appearance shifts, sometimes temporarily, but otherwise permanently; I think I even remember the unfortunate idiot who fought Schiffer and gave him her tear trails.' He dryly chuckled.

'Can self-consciousness fully alter as well?' Ukitake dared to inquire.

'No,' Stark answered. 'If one loses the inner battle, one reverts to Adjucha stage – the intermixed individualities grind each other out, and eventually all true dominance is lost, along with consciousness and memory…So, no reason to fear we'll _all_ going to be taken over, Ukitake; if that happens, you, I think, should give a little song and a dance, as I'll turn back to a pack of spectral puppies, and you'll be able to kill _me_ one by one by one. I'm sure you'll stay away from Lilinette this time, though.'

'Stark…' Ukitake said, lowering his glance – he sensed the other breathing in his own fury, and attempting to control it.

'This is different,' the Primera followed, after a moment of silence. 'Whatever this form of energy is, it is not grating at our consciousness in any way that we find familiar; it does not have memories, or individuality, and we do not always feel it, as we would other Hollow presences during…_digestion_. It only manifests in these projections.'

'Do the dreams vary?' the Shinigami asked.

Stark shook his head. 'Not in essence. It is always the same request, and...in my case at least,' he added, standing up with an unexplainably nervous gesture, 'the same offer. Do you truly know _nothing_ about this, Shinigami?'

The question had not been an attack, and Ukitake did not perceive it as such. He offered an apologetic bow.

'You probably thought you have lived long years,' he said. 'Mine were far longer, though the Gods only know that...'

He interrupted himself, and looked away.

'You know how old Unohana-senpai is; the Academy was established over two thousand years ago, and Yamamoto himself...No one is even able to appreciate the age of Soul-Society, and Sereitei is an institution, not a _natural_ implement. Since the balance of the cycle has held, however, it would be correct to assume that hell is as old as Soul Society itself.'

'In other words, you are attempting to tell me that whatever _it_ is may have been locked away in a time when no one bothered to keep records.' Stark muttered.

'In a time when there would have been no one to keep records,' Ukitake said, letting his shoulders slump.

Stark gazed out the window for a few seconds.

'You know, Ukitake Jyuushiro, I keep hoping that I will stop discovering ways in which your society was not stinted, but you still somehow manage to bitterly surprise me. It is impossible that no record of this exists.' He decisively said, turning towards the Shinigami.

'The passage of time...' Ukitake sighed, letting the cutting gesture of the Arrancar's hand interrupt him.

'Aizen is right, you are arrogant,' Stark thoughtfully said, turning away from the window. 'He is also right in his assertion that there was a time when the humans mingled freely with the spirit world. Humans live short lives, and, by all accounts, after _you_ got your house in order, you did a minimally good job of separating the two – humans still remember that time, though.'

The Shinigami frowned, making Stark take a deep, impatient breath, and settle back in his chair.

'Legend,' he said. 'Religion. Philosophy,' the Arrancar continued, casually gesturing about himself to indicate his books. 'Legend deals with the physical manifestations of the spiritual – dragons are universally present, as are ghosts. Hollow,' he conceded, with a small inclination of his head. 'Though humans regard them as radically different, _all_ religions hold the component of ascension and the concept of taint. Sin, if you will,' he thinly smiled.

'Philosophy is even better, since, in various forms, it deals with the equilibrium of the human spirit – a scale reduction of your _balance,_ in any event...'

'I understand,' Ukitake said, with a brief nod. 'Though it might not have been recorded, the knowledge of such a momentous event must have persisted in some form.'

'Unless, acting in a manner that by now I would find painfully characteristic, Central 46 fully erased everything, re-invented history and perched you and your _institutions_ on top of another figment of their grand imagination – the cycle itself.' Stark sneered, this time not bothering to hide his harmful intent.

'Please, Stark...'Ukitake scolded, with a deep frown. 'This is not the time...'

The Arrancar lifted his palm, in a tired, but conciliatory gesture, as if to indicate that the jibe had, indeed, been ill-timed; Ukitake breathed in deeply, and looked away.

'The mere existence of the lock you dream of is a novelty to me,' the Shinigami said. 'And even if...Even if Central 46 did not allow the information about how it came in place to surface, even in the highest circles of confidence, they would not have erased it. They might have sealed it,' Ukitake followed, stubbornly willing himself on, despite the fact that the Arrancar had scoffed at his words, 'but they would not have erased it, Stark.'

He paused, and lowered his glance.

'And, indeed, you are right in your inference that history radiates and morphs in unexpected ways. Even if they had attempted to, they could not have erased it _all.'_

'Also,' Ukitake followed, 'this seal does not seem to extend to the human world. Nor Hueco Mundo.' he said, leaning forward slightly.

'No,' Stark agreed. 'It seems to have been constructed for Soul Society alone, though...' It was his turn to pause. 'The manifestations we are encountering in Hueco Mundo and that the 3rd is seeing in the human world are gigantic compared to the random little bits and pieces that the Garganta are spewing out here, and I sense nothing special about the Garganta.'

'Nor I,' the Shinigami nodded.

'I also get the sensation that whatever this lock is, it was built against something well different than we have been facing thus far. The manifestation shown in our dreamsis nothing like the demons we've encountered in the human world or Hueco Mundo, and certainly different from the creatures we faced when the first nest manifested.'

'Different, how?' the Shinigami asked.

The Primera leaned forward, narrowed his eyes and attentively stared at the man before him.

'In that the manifestation in my dream cannot be defeated anymore,' Stark said, slowly and carefully. Ukitake furiously looked away. 'I doubt it can even be fought, in any meaningful sense of the term. Why are you here, Shinigami?' Stark briskly inquired, rushing the words as if attempting to distract the other from the certainty his voice had carried. 'What do you want from _me?_ Lilinette...she could have told you exactly what I have.'

Ukitake nodded rapidly in turn, accepting the question, but fearing to utter the response.

'I am here to request _your_ permission to approach the 12th and conduct research into the archives of Chamber 46,' he said, his decisive tone of voice surprising even to himself. 'To my knowledge,' he hurried to follow, as the Arrancar jumped to his feet, 'no such research has been mandated by New Central, and even if it had been, none of you would be...'

'Out of the question,' Stark laughed, beginning to pace.

'...none of you would be able to read _our _legends with the same eyes as we do; if we were to find anything, we'd be able to read and interpret far more than any of you. Stark.'

'No,' the Primera refused again. Though he stubbornly refused to even look the Shinigami's way, he could feel Ukitake's glance clinging to him, and both men tacitly understood that this time, Ukitake had not come to plea. 'Do I need to have you escorted out, Ukitake Jyuushiro?' the Arrancar snarled.

'You understand the merit of my proposition,' the Shinigami said, keeping his chin straight under the Primera's hate ridden stare.

'I understand that you wish to leave division grounds, and make an unsupervised inquiry into the sealed records of your _precious_ Central 46; inquiry that Aizen himself has not seen fit to make, and...'

'Szayel Aporro Grantz of the 12th may assist me,' Ukitake said. 'You may assist me if you so wish, and perhaps Unohana-senpai...'

Stark threw his head back and laughed.

'Oh, you are a monument to brazen daring, Ukitake Jyuushiro!'

'What I am is unspeakably concerned,' the Shinigami responded. 'The manner in which Aizen has chosen to address these...these outbreaks...is untenable. You are, if nothing else, a realistic man and a skilled combatant – I have observed you during these months, and...and before these months,' Ukitake brought himself to say. 'You are also, by your former nature, the most sensitive reiatsu reader of us all – you must have felt that our skirmishes against the manifestations of hell are useless. Our zanpakutoh destroy its physical shapes, but the energy only returns to the dark pools below, and rises again. Through these two months since it has revealed itself, the only cracks in its energy have been provided by whatever yourself, the Sexta Espada, Lilinette and some other Hollow have managed to consume...'

The Primera looked down at Ukitake, eyes narrowed and teeth clenched.

'The only thing _we_ are capable of doing is sending the demons back,' Ukitake completed, placing Sogyo no Kotowari across his knees. 'You must realise that. _Quincy_...'

'Oh, fuck,' Stark breathed. 'Fuck.'

'Can you not sense this?' Ukitake asked, shaking his white tresses. 'Do your reiatsu reading abilities...'

'This thing has only _one_ reiatsu,' the Arrancar snarled. 'I cannot even begin to perceive its margins, so, no, I cannot sense...' Stark nervously turned away, and pressed the back of his hand to his lips, hiding his Espada tattoo, but leaving his Quincy marking on display. 'Fuck.' He softly repeated.

'Aizen must understand this as well,' Ukitake said. 'He must realise it. This combat is untenable.'

He thought he'd seen Stark nod in acceptance, but did not dwell on the idea. He simply looked at his sword, running his fingers across the polished wood of its scabbard.

'I fear that Aizen understands this well,' Ukitake followed, swallowing dry. 'I further fear that he is hoping that your terrifying dreams will come true – that hell, united in a single aspect will manifest into Sereitei, and he is insane enough to believe that we...that _he_ can defeat it.'

'_He_ killed your bloody King, Shinigami,' Stark spat.

'It is not the same thing,' the Shinigami whispered. 'Good – purity...Is scattered in the cycle. The King's Court, even if it was _pure_, held only a minute part of it, while the evil of the world, the greatest part of its malice, since the beginning of time, lurks below. We...' he brought himself to say, 'carry a little of it. You, perhaps, carry more, the humans as well, but, with every judgement, with each purified soul, a little of its essence, whatever our swords could eliminate dripped below, while good held on to its shape, within us, and within _you_, for millennia uncounted. Hell is not the King's Court, Stark, and if Aizen hopes to defeat its incarnation...with a zanpakutoh...If you will not allow me to conduct this research, Quincy, Unohana-senpai...'

'Enough,' Stark whispered in his turn. 'Enough.'

'Suggest it to her,' Ukitake nonetheless continued. 'She...'

He breathed in deeply, relishing in the pain.

'_She _cannot remember your first name,' the Shinigami said, speaking of a different woman. 'She desperately wishes to and though I have come to wish that she did not, whether it is because I hate you so, or because I do not know if I can handle the mere notion of so much light being trapped by so much darkness, and that it was I, of all, to trap her, and I do not wish to see her darkness grow to completion, not into a form I always thought was evil incarnate...She loves you.'

'And I, her.' The Hollow said, simply, sharp features bathed in golden light.

'Then why will you not see her, Stark? She is but a mile away, you could well...'

Ukitake cut himself off; the sound of his breath was ridiculously loud in Stark's heavy silence.

'In my dream, _it _only offers me her,' the Primera slowly replied.

The Hollow looked over his shoulder.

'It offers Lilinette something different,' he dryly said. 'The completion of her soul lies elsewhere; it is not me, perhaps it was never me. That is why I will not see her, Ukitake Jyuushiro. Because I, too, do not wish to see her trapped in more darkness.'

Stark drew a deep breath, and, for long minutes, allowed his thoughts to dwell elsewhere, as he leaned his shoulder on the windowsill of a floor to ceiling window. The spirit of anger still stood between them, wrapped in wet rags.

'Retsu will be pleased to see you, Ukitake Jyuushiro. It will make her smile, and she is beautiful when she smiles.' Stark said. 'In fact no, she is simply - beautiful.'

'Szayel Aporro will assist; I know him well enough to assume that he might have been digging into Central 46's archives already,' the Primera simply followed.

Ukitake bowed and swiftly stood.

'May I inform Findor to draw the necessary papers...'

'No,' Stark interrupted. 'You can, and will disguise your reiatsu while travelling, and I will inform Retsu that you will be coming. She will, in turn, inform Szayel Aporro.'

'Will the Octava not...' Ukitake began to question.

'He has healed your burned wounds, but no one has heard of it. Szayel Aporro is well beyond Aizen, Szayel Aporro is...'

The Primera lowered his forehead and grinned to himself.

'Skill without heart. Skill, without fear.'

Ukitake could not have known that, much like the scattered flower arrangements, the words were the imprint of Unohana Retsu upon this enemy's soul. He therefore found Stark's grin unreadable.

'Aizen cannot learn of this. If Aizen ever learns of whatever you may discover, Ukitake Jyuushiro, he will willingly break the lock in my dreams. And then, we will all face the thing none of us can even dream to fight. But,' Stark chuckled, making Ukitake freeze in mid-step, 'that is not why I am letting you go, Shinigami. I am neither afraid of my dreams, nor of Aizen.'

'The thing that frightens me, Ukitake,' Stark dreamily uttered, 'is that a few days ago, the dreams completely stopped.'

Ukitake clenched his jaws.

'They stopped, and I cannot tell why that is,' Stark repeated – the Shinigami bowed, and shadow stepped away.

* * *

Up next - Was anyone missing Yoruichi?


	65. A Visitation

Ah, greetings and salutations, all! This delay in posting we blame not in IVI, as usual (and let's face it, he's normally guilty if Abstract thinks he is!) but on Abstract herself, as she's been running around playing 'Hide the Budget!' instead of being a good girl and posting according to schedule.

Thus, thanks you all for your reviews and follows, and say Hello! to a very old friend in -

Chapter 65 - Where Ukitake Hayoto meets his boss. Ahem.

* * *

When Hayoto had transitioned from the role of rebel hunter to rebel leader, one of the many things which he had not considered was the fact that being a rebel didn't pay overly much. While Aizen's emergence had caught him with a skillset that could certainly be turned profitable in terms of blood prizes and extortions, Hayoto had been forced to admit that he was suffering from a very professionally inconvenient, strong, if somewhat selective, sense of honor and was plagued by the unshakeable need of considering wider society after Aizen, when the bastard inevitably fell.

For the honor, Hayoto was exorbitantly proud of his family and its name, however much grief it sometimes gave him. For society, one had to be very careful about what sort of precedents one set – in a world that had been so brusquely overturned, and in which the Shinigami had unexpectedly gone from absent minded protectors into complete non-existence, some figures of authority would nonetheless need to be preserved. Thus, by no initial or active choice of his own, Hayoto had found that his Omnitskido honed skills only made him suitable for a thug or a revolutionary - in lieu of the doubtlessly more glamorous career in extortion, he'd therefore been left in the truly bizarre position of actually working part time as a butcher to feed his own, awkward family unit.

In a sense, he thought, looking up at the sky and trying to guess the time by the half veiled moon, it had been a good day to catch up on more mundane tasks; he'd left the back room in order, endlessly haggled with a farmer who, judging by the price he was demanding for his stock, probably only fed his cows ambrosia and morning dew, and neatly stacked his cuts for the early morning display. He'd not been looking forward to any of it, but, in truth, he'd been so absorbed in everything that he'd almost forgotten to count the hours before nightfall, and thought of nothing but the shop and its dwindling profits.

Though the attempts at the 3rd Division had not had as devastating an initial aftermath as he'd feared, which had led to the grudging realization that Jyuushiro must actually have engineered a truce with his friend, things were amiss. His sources within Sereitei had been oddly quiet for a number of days, despite the fact that the rules constraining Shinigami to their own divisions had somewhat relaxed. Three scheduled attacks had simply not happened, though the resources and the planning had been in place for months. Worst of all, however, the unexplainable failure of the first amid the three attacks had seeded rumours of treason amid his group, and pushed them all deeper underground. The causes of the failure had therefore remained a mystery, and none of those involved had dared surface and truly communicate. The only sign that all were unhurt and simply gone into hiding was the fact that regular, scheduled contacts had been maintained – every six hours, the appropriately marked packages had been left at the side of his door, and every six hours, he'd replaced it with his own marking, yet…There'd been no messages, other than the singular and disturbing reference that the explosive packages which had fuelled their forces for months must have been intercepted, for none had been found at the set locations.

After that, the contact had been maintained but communications had remained blank.

He was not nervous, Ukitake Hayoto thought. If anything, his experience with the Omnitskido had taught him that, unlike what anyone from the outside might have imagined, his work actually consisted of being able to wait without fretting for long periods of time, and only spring into glamorous action on very short and rare occasions.

He was not nervous, the man told himself. He was simply approaching exhaustion.

The last traces of the sunlight had been faded almost five hours before; last signs of life and bustle had faded long before that, an inevitable result of fear and the loss of trade caused by the additional withdrawal of Seretei and the clans from the daily life of the Rukonagi. Stomping through the muck left by a rainstorm a few days past, Hayoto at last arrived at the haphazard shack that, for lack of a better description, served as his den.

The name was apt. Naturally insulated by being built partially below ground and camouflaged by its outer appearance, the former dry goods store had served his family well as a hiding hole.

Almost insensate with fatigue, but still able to find his way through the darkened house by memory, Hayoto quickly found the small oil lamp his wife kept near the door and lit it before blearily making his way to their bedroom. A quick glance at the curled lump of unmoving blankets and black hair poking out near the top confirmed that Tokio was safe asleep. He noted with subdued warmth of trust confirmed that his side was open and waiting – by habit, and though he knew she never appreciated the gesture, he briefly leaned in and pinched her shoulder, just hard enough to let her know he'd arrived, but not hard enough to wake her if she was deeply asleep.

The woman muttered in exaggerated protest, making him smile tiredly; by now, he thought, beginning to strip off his robes, he was tired enough not to care about anything. If Aizen himself were to suddenly appear, and offer his own head for the chopping block, Hayoto fancied he'd do his best imitation of Jyuushiro, and ask the tyrant to kindly wait with his surrender until morning.

Tokio shifted, and muttered again.

'I'll douse the light in a moment,' he distractedly uttered; the light went out.

'Don't move.'

Hayoto felt the eerily distorted voice whisper into his right ear just after the feather light sting of razor edged steel as it lovingly kissed him over the jugular. The heavy coat of fatigue that had clung to him and numbed his senses slid off instantly, leaving him with a sudden, startling visual clarity and ringing pressure in his ears.

Just next to him, his wife slumbered on, oblivious, her children asleep in the other room; his men would not be concerned about him for several hours at the least.

He was not nervous.

Hayoto let out his breath in a low, almost loving hum as he allowed his body to utterly relax.

He knew what to do.

'We know our own sort better than this.' Hayoto said. 'If you'd been sent to kill me, I would be dead. '

The assailant neither moved nor responded.

'I gather, then, that you are here for other purposes – if so, would the latest and greatest of the Omnitskido wish to discuss something with me in Sereitei?' Hayoto asked, in enforced, ironic politeness. He liked the way he sounded when he spoke like this – it not only kept his thoughts from becoming lost in the tunnel vision of adrenaline, but it seemed to put most attackers off their guard.

He felt for his knife's hilt inside his sleeve; though his training assured that his opponent could not have sensed the motion, the caress of the other's blade became more poignant. It remained a weak threat, though. He could still sense the lack of intent.

'Then it is not that, either,' he continued, voice pitched to dark silk. Hayoto felt a slight yet sharp burning wave wash over him as his night visitor let out their reiatsu, but ignored it and whirled around to face the intruder, knife now drawn and flashing in his hand; he pushed them away, by lodging his elbow into their ribcage. By sheer instinct, he did not attempt to stab, assuming that it would have been a pointless effort. He'd counted the seconds as he'd turned, knowing that a reiatsu aided creature could have used any of them to do away with him. It nonetheless took him a moment to acknowledge and accept that his throat had not yet been slit open, though he assumed he must have presented ample opportunity.

'Not here to kill me and not here to arrest me,' Hayoto concluded, bringing the weapon up and giving his best shark's grin towards the trembling air which marked the place where the intruder must have stood. Though he'd clearly felt the weapon, it too remained no more than a faint distortion of space. The intruder took a step back.

'So then,' the man added, 'Please tell me what are here for, because I'm feeling very tired and, at the moment, just a little angry.'

The air continued to be distorted, but did not move, leaving Hayoto to stare at it for several heart beats too long, each of them taking a furious swipe at his resolve not to acknowledge the danger of the invisible weapon, the reiatsu, his sleeping wife, and all the other reasons why he would likely not be alive in five minutes' time.

Then, slowly and almost hesitantly, the transparent figure shifted, its weapon minutely lowering as it took a further step back. The roaring pressure of the adrenaline that had been threatening to steal his consciousness abruptly receded, leaving a thick nausea in its wake. He'd come this far, Hayoto told himself - he would not collapse now. His features twisted into a snarl.

The voice returned, thick and scratchy in its sandpaper undertones.

'You are not what I expected, Ukitake,' it said.

Hayoto frowned, even as he lowered his own weapon. It was a troublingly small stretch to consider that this person knew exactly who he was – they were there, in a house that the Hollow had not been able to find for months, and they had been quiet and skilled enough not to disturb anything, let alone give him any sense of danger. Yet, beneath all that, there was more to the uttering of the Ukitake name than the mere recognition of identity. There was something beyond that. A chord of familiarity.

Hayoto let out a sharp breath that might, under different circumstances, have grown to laughter. 'I seldom am,' he stated without question or clarification as to why anyone might have had expectations, or more accurately, just who they'd really been expecting. The figure didn't answer and Hayoto took their silence as affirmation.

'Tell your friends to get out of the house,' his wife sleepily murmured from under the thin covers - out of another habit Tokio sternly disapproved of, Hayoto caught himself rolling his eyes. He nonetheless took a deep breath and gestured for the stranger to follow him as he quietly turned back towards the entrance. 'I will, I will. Go back to sleep,' he quietly ordered as he stepped back outside.

'Liar,' he heard as they both slipped outside, with their weapons decidedly lowered. The quiet sigh which followed the word assured him that she would return to sleep shortly and forget the whole encounter in the morning.

'You often meet with strangers in the night?' The still unknown person behind him asked, as they climbed out of the stairs and turned back towards the shop – he did not hurry to answer. The visitor's reiatsu swept over him again, this time in telling amusement, and Hayoto felt quite displeased, not necessarily at the irony in the other's voice, but of the fact that they thought so little of speaking out on a deserted road, and did not keep their energy in check.

He simply grunted as he pushed the light wooden door open, and blindly searched around for the lamp he knew he'd hanged in the middle of the room. He found it with his forehead. Behind him, he heard a low, rasping chuckle. 'Your poor wife: she must be jealous.'

'She lives,' he replied curtly as he at last lit the lamp. 'Now then…' Hayoto began, turning about with a frown, and ready to let the stranger know just how little he thought of their tactics, as well as how little he cared about their opinion of his domestic arrangement. Under the bright, feral gaze of Yoruichi Shounin, his voice froze in his throat.

'Not what you expected, either, am I? Ukitake?' Yoruichi quipped back at him.

Despite all reason, Hayoto thought that now it was the time to be nervous.

* * *

Yoruichi had thought herself inured to insanity. The Shihouin princess had spent most of her life surrounded by various crazy people – Urahara Kisuke had simply been the one she'd been around the most. Yoruichi herself was quite familiar with wearing a mask of seeming insanity; she found it useful in hiding her intentions from inferiors and superiors alike, though, admittedly much of what others had taken as unspeakable and inappropriate whimsy had simply her been ignoring society's idiotically self-imposed fears and rules.

Quite appropriately, she had considered Sousuke Aizen as one of the few sane people in her immediate circle of association, both before and after his betrayal – she'd even grudgingly found the man admirable for having both the muscle and the balls to topple Yamamoto's castrated demigods. Even if she'd happily have snapped his neck, if given half the chance.

But then, the very same had been true of Yamamoto, the woman thought, settling before the reiatsu-less Ukitake, and taking him in at her leisure. To her, the fact that Sousuke Aizen had been cruel enough to test his Hollwfication methods on his fellow captains, in a long forgotten century, had been no more cruel than the fact that Central 46 and the Gotei had so easily discarded them; but for her intervention, they would all have been executed for no fault of their own, a fact that seemed all too easily forgotten by all of the others.

For the first few months after the end of the war, Yoruichi had found the new situation scaldingly and fittingly ironic, and taken Urahara's true sense of loss as further proof of his endearing insanity. She could not help but point out that, in truth, and especially in what regarded them both, things had not changed one iota. If anything, at least this Gotei would not pursue them for harbouring abominations – Sereitei was now filled with abominations in turn, and, after a century of observing the Vaizard, Yoruichi could not even feel that the new situation was wrong or naturally abhorrent.

No, she thought, still waiting for the young man before her to display any sign of his older brother's permanent nervousness and concern, and finding herself surprised by his composure.

The only thing that was unnatural and abhorrent about the Vaizard had been how grievously they had been betrayed, by Yamamoto and Aizen alike; Aizen's new creatures were not even unnatural in that. In truth, Yoruichi considered, Vasto Lorde were as natural a set of entities as they come.

In truth, for months, she'd barely been able to bring herself to feel any pain or disappointment. Still, in sign that hanging about insane people for too long, she hadn't fully been able to shut out Urahara, and simply felt rage, though she should have known better. All of Aizen's actions in the wake of Yamamoto's fall had been chillingly sane, and followed logic that Yoruichi should have found admirable yet again. Soi Fon had been quickly and quietly eliminated, the Omnitskido thus decapitated and scattered to the winds, and for as much personal pain Yoruichi had felt at the news, it had been Soi Fon's failures that had brought such complete dissolution about.

After Yoruichi's own disappearance, Soi Fon had allowed Central 46 and Yamamoto's paranoia to lead her; the once loosely connected network of informants had been transformed to some form of militarised special operations group, which was probably good at anything else but gathering information. Furthermore, Soi Fon had placed herself at the centre of the net, controlling it in its entirety, which had both assured that the network could not survive without her and that the flow of information was restrained by Soi Fon's personal lack of capacity. Though she guessed that the desire for tighter controls over the Omnistkido had been prompted by her own desertion, Yoruichi could do little but deplore the fact that her former vice-captain had inherited a graceful and flexible organism, and managed to transform it into the likeness of Yamamoto's steel-clad and blind juggernaut.

The thought sparked bitter amusement.

'Your recruitment form crossed my desk, once,' she distractedly said, eyeing Hayoto with open, superior irony. 'It almost did not make it past.' She added.

The man did not seem phased. 'Because I am a plus,' he matter-of-factly said; the words only made Yoruichi's grin grow wider and more predatory.

'No,' she answered, taking pleasure in the words. 'Because you are an Ukitake. Your brother was never fond of the Omnitskido; he found our ways altogether too loose on morality, and I wondered why his little brother would dissent from that particular credo. After all, your family has an almost incestuous tendency for sticking together…'

'I imagine then, that you find it fortunate that yours does not,' Hayoto responded, without smiling – the allusion to her clan's open and immediate switch of allegiance to Aizen made the woman's features quickly turn into a snarl.

'I imagine _you_ should find it fortunate,' Yoruichi hissed. 'If I had joined them, you and your operation here…'

'One low barb deserves another, Shihouin-sama,' Hayoto replied, once more without smiling. 'It is the middle of the night, and I have not left my wife's side for a casual exchange of pleasantries. What is it that you wish?'

The woman drew back, carefully considering her next words while still revelling in the unexpectedly painful aftermath of his.

'You do not trust me,' Yoruichi said, at long length deciding for honesty.

'It is a challenge,' Hayoto dryly responded. She found herself hating the fact that she'd somewhat expected him to withdraw from the aggressive stance, give her a break and smile as if he could read…Whatever the hell it was that Ukitake Jyuushiro read in other people – a glimmer of disappointment that could have been dissected into pain, perhaps…'I've been trained by the best,' Hayoto had reminded; Yoruichi chewed on the compliment, wondering whether she should have told him that the offer of re-joining her clan had indeed been made.

_Only Kisuke knew that._

She wondered whether Aizen had truly expected that she would bite, on that grey morning, when the sky sieved ashes along with easily melted snowflakes. The snowflakes had melted on her cheek; the ashes still burned them.

Perhaps Aizen had expected she would bite. Perhaps all of them had.

'If I had followed my family's stance and joined forces with Aizen, you would be dead by now,' Yoruichi said, knowing that if the man before her was as good as his actions this far seemed to prove, her bait would be as transparent as Aizen's.

'Not necessarily,' Hayoto replied, with a small shrug. 'You do not take orders and you have never been one for rash action, Yoruichi Shihouin. It is not I, personally, who represents a danger to Aizen. We both know that…The danger is formed by the hundreds who act under my guidance and I assure you, that taking me alive will not serve either, because I…'

'You only personally know very few of them, have always been wary of meeting with other leaders, and preserve as little factual knowledge of meeting places and communication patterns as is absolutely necessary,' the woman said, with a beaming smile. 'Your group will not go down with you. You have trained under the best,' Yoruichi grinned. 'I have been watching you for the past three weeks, Ukitake, and you are, indeed, nothing like I expected.'

Hayoto hesitated, and looked through her.

'Your supply of explosives has run dry,' Yoruichi said, deciding to up the stakes. The man's expression did not change. 'Even more, with Kira Izuru and Hisagi Suuhei sensing the battle is at hand and deciding to resurface in a meaningful manner, your authority is at an all time low. But,' She added, 'what is of most concern to you is the fact that they are not of our kind – they are not trained for patience, and they are not trained to distinguish a false opportunity from a true one. The attacks on the 3rd have proven that.'

He scrambled in his pocket, and extracted a sleek, rosewood pipe. He gently knocked it against the floor, upturning it to pour the remnants of the ashes out, then refilled it and lit it; Yoruichi thought that she'd seen the flame waver.

She still found the man's gesture sharply amusing.

'Jyuushiro must love this little habit of yours,' she chuckled, imagining how the family scene must have frowned on that one. Oddly, the remark, which had truly been nothing than an untargeted malicious observation seemed to strike true, and Hayoto hesitated before he drew the next puff.

'You say that our explosive supply has run dry,' he said, in a far sterner tone than the phrase needed. 'Have our sources within Sereitei been found?'

Yoruichi frowned. 'I am unsure,' she responded, without haste. 'I have not yet travelled within Sereitei – the senkai gates are monitored, and I would have set them on alarm. I considered it too much risk for too little gain, at this point. Are your supply lines still in order?'

'Yes,' Hayoto said. 'At least, they are still in order in Rukongai. I must, therefore, assume that something has happened to our manufacturers within the walls to make the supply stop.'

She nodded in approval of his intuition.

'I cannot travel into Sereitei either,' the man followed. 'I've had two very close brushes with what they now call the Omnitskido, and I need to remain in Rukongai for a while. Besides,' he added, finally volunteering some information of his own, 'the attacks on the 3rd seem to have generated an unexpected wave of hostility even within our ranks; some of our Shinigami contacts at the 8th are now reluctant to speak to us, and even the frail foothold we had with the Shinigami of the 3rd has evaporated. If he truly wanted to attack his former Division, Kira Izuru should at least not have relied on outsiders; it probably made his people feel like he's betrayed them twice.' Hayoto ended.

Yoruichi nodded again, and extended her arm, in silent demand for the pipe. He questioningly leered at her for a second, but then yielded. She found the tobacco was of surprisingly good quality.

'In a sense,' she said, inhaling deeply before returning the pipe, 'I am not surprised – the 3rd and the 8th have been on dispatch in the human world for a great number of times now…'

'Human world?' Hayoto inquired, squinting through the smoke.

'Yes,' she confirmed. 'Demon gates,' Yoruichi clarified, a second later. 'They have often been on detail fighting the influx of demons, and I assume some sort of camaraderie must have formed, not only in between the Shinigami themselves, but also with…'

She unwillingly chuckled.

'Grimmjow Jagguerjaques must be a compelling individual, when he chooses to,' she said, almost to herself.

'_She_ is a compelling individual,' Hayoto dryly replied. 'Lilinette?' he questioningly uttered, a second later. Yoruichi did not recognise the name, but posed no more than a passing effort in doing so. It did not much matter which of the Arrancar the Shinigami had developed loyalty to. The important piece of information was that they had, and that Kira's foolish disregard of the fact had rendered her work, and Hayoto's work, that much harder.

'How crucial are the explosives?' she asked. Hayoto paused, and the suspicion in his eyes returned. Still, this time, the reluctance lasted for no longer than a second.

'Most of my group is deprived of reiatsu,' he slowly answered. 'The Shinigami themselves are deprived of their swords, and none possess Kido strong enough to pose a threat. We cannot touch them without the explosives.'

'Do you know who the supplier was?' she asked.

He shook his head. 'Our forays into Sereitei have been limited. However,' he followed, 'I assume that the 3rd and the 8th would not have sufficient capabilities for creating such devices. I would extend that supposition to the 6th. The 1st is highly unlikely, since it is now formed exclusively of…'

'You do not need to remind me,' Yoruichi interrupted, still smiling, but bringing her voice into a threatening snarl. He puffed on his pipe, looking distinctly amused.

'The 2nd does not exist anymore,' Hayoto added, after exhaling. 'This only leaves the 4th and the 12th, but though both seem like a logical source, we have never had any contact with any of their members. We have not even approached their walls; the wealth of previously unknown technology is of such nature that we thought it wise not to.'

'Your presence will be of no use to me with Izuru and Shuuhei,' he suddenly added, pulling her to attention. It was a fair point, though.

_Only Kisuke knew that she had walked away._

She laughed and nodded, both at the thought of the mad man she'd left behind, and at the chillingly sane one who sat before her. She'd understood Ukitake Hayoto well enough.

'I will be of no use to you with Izuru and Shuuhei unless I present myself with something more material than my knowledge of your activities,' she said. 'You want me to go into Sereitei.'

'We need to reestablish the supply of explosives,' Hayoto dryly replied. 'I am not particularly concerned with how you do it. I just need it _done.'_

'I like you,' she concluded, jumping to her feet. 'You're nothing like Jyuushiro.'

The woman stretched, watching him through the corner of her eyes; he had, however, stopped responding to her irony.

'Will re-establishing the supply of explosives gain me your trust?' she asked.

'No,' the man swiftly answered. She arched an eyebrow. 'You might be doing this to get me to lead you to Izuru and Shuuhei…'

Her laughter surprised him, and he threw her a cutting glance from the midst of his veil of smoke.

'Ah,' Yoruichi continued to chuckle. 'It's good to know that there are still ways in which you are predictable, Ukitake. When one trains under the best, forgetting that one is not actually the best is a fairly common trait,' she added, grinning wide to the man's frown.

'I do not need you to lead me to Izuru and Shuuhei, Ukitake Hayoto,' she said, as the wave of her kido descended, rendering her figure transparent. 'I found them _long_ before I found you.'

* * *

When Hayoto returned to his den, the light of dawn was slowly stretching its limbs through the planks which still barred the windows of their so-called bedroom; Hayoto sighed, thinking of how much he would have liked to remove them. He advanced slowly, hoping that the floorboards would not creek under his step, and tiredly considered that for once, he would not pinch Tokio to announce his return.

Far better, he thought, if she guessed he'd slept by her side, and had simply woken very early. He was no longer tired – in fact, he was experiencing the deceitful wave of freshness that one's body so fittingly and independently summoned at sunrise, regardless of how the night had been spent.

He knew it would be gone by noon.

He casually glanced towards the bed, and, for a second, became startled by the fact that Tokio's hair was not poking out from under the blanket. He swiftly spun around and breathed at ease.

'You know,' Hayoto said, letting himself crash by the side of the low table she'd quietly been sitting at, 'I think that I should worry that for all of my instincts, I can never sense you moving about.'

'Yes.' She said, curtly. 'Who did you spend the night with?' Tokio inquired, in an equally abrupt manner.

'A beautiful woman,' he answered, smiling wryly.

'You wish,' Tokio replied.

He laughed out loud, feeling lucky and thoroughly at ease under her still stern stare.

Tokio herself was not even pretty; she had a rather flat and rounded face, small eyes and she never used anything else than a dagger to cut her hair, which always made it fall ungracefully about her cheeks. She always acted as if she knew it, too – there was not even a pretense of feminine grace in either her movement or her general manner, as if at some point, long ago, she'd taken a look at herself in the mirror and decided not to fight a battle she could not win.

At the time when he'd first met her, people whispered that she'd been lucky her father had been rich enough to get her a husband who was greedy and young enough not to know better.

Hayoto placed his hand on the table. In silence, she put her calloused fingers, with roughly cut fingernails across his.

The whisperers, of course, also agreed that it was any man's right to leave such an unpleasant woman, and Tokio's first husband had, as soon as her father had died, and he'd been the rightful heir of the fortune. He'd sold everything within a fortnight, leaving behind a pouch of pierced copper coins and two children he'd taken no pleasure in siring.

'You have not slept at all,' Tokio noted. 'And you cannot rest now; you will need to man the shop today, I have taken money from Hideyoshi to help them carry their corn crop up to the barn, and you have already spent it on the new livestock.'

He squeezed her calloused fingers, and looked towards the planks in the windows. For as long as he'd known her, and even when he'd brought her and her children here, taking her away from the modestly comfortable existence they'd shared before Aizen's wars, she'd never complained. Even though she had not truly needed to follow him. She could have kept the house, and whatever money he'd had, and not needed to work her hands into even more callouses.

'I'm sorry,' he said.

Her boys began to stir in the next room, but this did not make him hurry – they always tickled each other, or wrestled, or even scuffled about some thing or another for at least half an hour before they made their official waken state known to the adults. Hayoto smiled – his twin brothers had always done that, too; he wondered how it had never occurred to them that the racket they made alerted the entire household, and sent Tsubaki into a cooking spree.

'I may need to do something very dangerous soon,' he said, in a single breath; Tokio's fingers remained warm beneath his. 'The opportunity of recovering the Shinigami's weapons will not wait for long.'

She nodded, still eyeing him sternly.

'I know,' she said – then, she smiled, her small eyes alight with warmth, safety and gentle devotion. 'So who _did_ you spend last night with?' Tokio jokingly repeated.

'A dangerous woman who is far less beautiful than you are,' the man shrugged.

* * *

Up next - Stark and Uno, though I have a feeling Stark did not take that Quincy thing Ukitake mentioned a while back very lightly. Thus, our lovebirds may encounter a bit of a...dissonance.


	66. Spellbound

Thank all of you for your patience and for your reviews. It's cliche, but true: real life has been getting in the way and your words of encouragement keep us going.

* * *

She did not recall the air between them having been so heavy – perhaps it had been, when they had first met, but that seemed so remote now…That night, with its unease and its tension had all but faded from memory, as other nights, other mornings, other days had come and gone between them.

Unohana Retsu hesitated at the sight of him, though it had been the one she'd selfishly craved all day - in the dying light, Stark looked just as he had when she'd first seen him, and the sharp cutting line of fangs under his chin, the part of him that their shared spell had made her oblivious to, was once more noticeable.

_I am being foolish,_ she thought. _I have had a charged day, and I am being foolish._

'Good evening,' she softly greeted – Stark looked up from his glass, and smiled tiredly. He said nothing in return, and, feeling unexplainably cold, she braved his silence and entered the room. She did not hurry in changing her clothes or putting away her notes, but painfully noticed he was not watching her movements.

'Have you eaten anything?' the woman softly asked.

'Not for a while. Were you happy to see Ukitake, today?' Stark's voice was gentle, and distant, and cold at the same time.

'He…he looks so very ill,' Unohana managed to answer. 'So very frail…He's dying,' she said, a second later. The dreamy, contemplative expression on the Arrancar's features did not change and she wondered what he'd wanted her to say; the day, with all of its revelations had been hard enough, and seeing Shiro….

'Does the thought please you?' she asked, keeping her back turned to him.

'Do you wish me to lie?' he gently returned. For a moment, she was tempted to answer _yes,_ but she did not. She walked into the bedroom, and folded her haori, with far slower gestures than were needed; she studied the door of the closet before opening it, and she counted the drawers once she had, then studied their contents for a long time before putting her haori next to the three others she had.

'Did you find anything?' Stark inquired, at length.

Unohana sighed, and closed her eyes.

'Not yet, it is but the first day, and just the notion of…It is too soon.' she answered. 'Well,' she reconsidered, '_I_ found that Mayuri Kurosutchi was digging at Central 46 archives with both hands, and that Szayel Aporro has maintained the same hobby for quite some time.'

'Did you expect anything else?' Stark asked.

'No,' she answered, hesitating before pulling the closet close; she drew a deep breath, and tried to sound cheerful, precise and untouched by the tension. 'I guess I should not be ungrateful. He must have spent weeks fiddling with Kurosutchi's interfaces, and his decryption work will serve us well – it is just that there are thousands of documents, and I have no idea what we are searching for. Jyuushiro said…'

'He said we are looking for some ancient and massive form of kido,' she continued, standing away from the closet, and forcing herself to walk to the living room. He had not moved, and he'd still been staring into nothing, but he'd refilled his glass, and the sight made her briefly angry.

'Why is it that I am only _now_ finding out about your dreams?' Unohana questioned, not bothering to hide her reproach. Stark chuckled dryly, which made her frown.

'Do not worry,' he answered, 'I am not developing the habit of having such conversations with Ukitake Jyuushiro before I have them with you,' the Primera said. 'He initiated this one, in a manner which made it impossible for me to abscond.'

Unohana braved his heavy silence, and the oddly charged air in the room to sit by his side, though as she did, she distinctly, desperately wished they'd been as his private quarters at the 13th, because there…there, she would have found something more to do: glasses to wash, books to put away, bottles to carry outside, rings of liquid stains to rub off his piano's lid, water to be changed in vases, musical notes to be put in order…Something to do and talk, and maybe quarrel a little about about that was not _this._

He said nothing, and her thoughts strayed too.

_This,_ the thing that was coming.

Szayel Aporro, who was a keeper of many secrets, had treated Ukitake's presence at the 12th as if it had been nothing out of the ordinary, and, for appearances' sake, Unohana had attempted to do the same – for the first hour, she had not even been able to guess whether the fact that the three of them had descended into what had once been Mayuri Kurosutchi's sanctuary had been mandated by New Central. The only indication of the fact that secrecy had to be maintained had been the fact that Ukitake had done his best to conceal his reiatsu, and had almost seemed fearful to maintain eye contact with her for any longer than a second.

But then, as if the months during which Aizen's creatures had done all in their power to keep the captains of the old Gotei separated had had no importance, Szayel Aporro had left them alone together, not even bothering to invent himself an excuse. Those few precious minutes, and the rushed whispers that had passed between them, in the wake of such lengthy and painful silence had made her feel equal amounts of joy and fright – dismissing all concerns about his visibly deteriorating health with even more grim determination than usual, but still not able to hide his own apprehension and amazement, each time that he spoke Stark's name, Ukitake had told her all about the circumstances surrounding his unexpected visit. He'd briefly spoken of the things he had seen in the human world, of ancient locks and terrifying nightmares, and of his fear that once the new enemy had truly mastered its shape, the Shinigami alone would be all but powerless against it. Szayel Aporro's return had robbed her of the chance of responding with anything more than a brief squeeze of Jyuushiro's arm, and a quick nod, yet, the Arrancar's smile – the little, shy smile that made him look like a child – had told her that the brief interlude had been intentional, and that both Stark and Szayel Aporro were acting without New Central's mandate.

She hadn't known whether to be grateful or truly terrified. Maybe both were equally appropriate. The Shinigami looked at her hands.

'May I have a glass of your wine?' Unohana asked. 'It's been a difficult day…'

Stark remained silent, but stood to fetch her a glass; she saw them, five silvery and finely polished hilts, placed along each other in the loops of a tight leather belt looped around his waist.

Unohana swallowed dry.

As far as she remembered, Quincy weapons should not have possessed spiritual energy of their own. Still, these seemed to – they radiated a colder, mechanical version of Stark's reiatsu, and perhaps just a trace of somebody else's energy as well. Perhaps it was their mechanical reiatsu that she'd taken for heavy air and tension, she thought, then cringed at the realization that she was attempting to deceive herself. The _Seele Schneider_, for their entire unnatural, unpleasant aura, were not in the way. The fact that he was wearing them, the frightful knowledge of the only place where he could have gotten them from, the knowledge of what he must have seen, where he must have seen it…

The small, silver cross which hung on his wrist clinked against the glass, when Stark set it before her. It had grey pearls on its points.

'It must have been difficult,' she said, blankly.

'Yes,' the Arrancar responded. 'What did you let _him_ do?' Stark asked; the cross on his wrist lied along his tattoo, and glowed with all the fury his voice had not carried. 'What did you let Kurosutchi do?'

Unohana looked away, and gave up on reaching for the glass at the very last moment, for her hands were shaking.

'There were hundreds of talismans, Retsu, Sanrei gloves, crosses and pentacles, thousands of Seele Schneider…What did you let that thing do to us? I've always known that your side took prisoners but, I had never imagined the true dimensions of this – literally hundreds, and by the make, I could tell, over centuries and centuries, at least five generations…'

'There are no words that could possibly express my regret,' Unohana responded, bowing deeply and mechanically. 'I had no domain…' she began, only to cut herself off as the man's lips turned into a thin, harsh line. 'You are right,' she withdrew. 'That is not an acceptable excuse.'

She kept her glance to the floor, employing all her willpower not to look at the weapons. She had not sensed Stark at the 12th, and the Octava hadn't mentioned his presence. And, if he had found his clansmen's weapons, she thought, he must have found the _data_ that accompanied them; he must have seen what had only been legend, previously – he must have seen all the things that she had looked away from. And Szayel Aporro had not said a word.

As was only to be expected, Unohana bitterly thought. Szayel Aporro Grantz was a keeper of many secrets. She closed here eyes, and drew a deep breath.

'Are you here to tell me that the world has finally broken our spell?' she whispered. 'Have…have the Shinigami returned?'

'I do not know what I am here to do,' Stark slowly replied. 'I think I just wanted to look at you, and see…God, Retsu…For all of these months, you have been the single point of balance of Stark's dominant soul; without you, after Lilinette left us, he would have grown different, and perhaps learned to listen to voices other than that of the man he once was, by half.'

He sunk his face in his hands; the fact that he was not wearing his glove was too small of a comfort.

'Please do not speak of yourself like that,' Unohana said. 'I cannot bear it.'

'Why?' Stark asked in a whisper. 'I was reminded today of who you were. Why should reminding you of what Stark is be unbearable? He is many souls, and I am just the strongest among them – you have kept him rooted to myself. I think I came to see whether, in beautiful balance, it will be you who returns me to his oceans of darkness…'

She stood away swiftly, all her energy about her, and he looked up with an unwilling start. Anger, which Unohana Retsu seldom felt, had chosen to manifest now, at the worst possible moment; she did not sit in judgment of herself, or allow herself to wonder whether her sudden fury was a defensive mechanism, hastily summoned against the vast amounts of guilt she felt.

'I am beginning to suspect that your well practiced habit of creating distances was not entirely your women's fault, Stark,' she coldly said. 'If you placed an equal amount of false expectations on Tia Halibel and your beautiful Lilinette, I can see how they too may have wished to create distance from this all too heavy and unjust responsibility– how precisely have I kept you rooted to yourself?'

The Arrancar glanced up with the expression of an unjustly scolded child; she pressed.

'Please,' the woman frowned. 'Elaborate – what did I do, what did I say, to keep you in balance, Stark? What was my merit? What did _I _do? How much will it take for you to see that it is you, and that it has always been you dominating your nature – no, not nature- dominating the many souls you are?'

The man clenched his jaws; she was too angry to care.

'I did nothing of the kind,' Unohana followed, shaking her head. 'And I truly do wish that you'd stop thinking and feeling that Lilinette or Halibel did, either…'

'Even if I might have said something, it was you who ascribed meanings to my words and gestures, you ascribed meanings to my surrenders. It was you. Not me, not Lilinette, not Halibel Tia – only you, all along. We all must have said things, but all we said made sense within your logic. It is, and it's always been you keeping yourself dominant over your darkness, so, please…'

'Do not run away from what you are – it is cowardly, and I detest cowardice. If the spell must be broken because of my lack of intervention during the Quincy wars, let it be so.', Unohana said, swallowing dry. 'If the spell must be broken because you hate us all, let it be so, as well. But I do not, nor ever did carry your burden; I do not claim any of your successes - your burden, and your successes are yours alone.' she whispered, taking a step closer.

The man simply looked away, lost in his silence and growing distance; more than angry, Unohana felt helpless.

'How is it that you cannot see yourself as I see you?' she bitterly asked, but though Stark still sat before her, she felt as if she'd been watching him walk away. As swiftly as she'd stepped away, Unohana kneeled before him and kissed him, her angry little fingers finding that the buttons of his tunic were all but insurmountable.

'I failed,' Unohana whispered, as his hands ascended to hers – she hadn't been able to guess whether he'd intended to stop her or aid her. 'I failed, with Kurosutchi, as I failed with the Maggot's Nest at the 2nd.'

His fingers paused on her wrists; hers turned into claws.

'I failed, and I know that – I could have done so much…'

She gazed up at him, letting the pain in his eyes mirror the pain she felt, then shyly reached to touch his face.

'How is it that you see me as more than I am?' the woman asked; Stark caressed her shoulders, in an awkward, reassuring rather than sensual gesture, yet, he let himself slip to his knees in turn; he pulled her close - two became one and she was breathless.

'I did not, and I am so sorry…' Unohana whispered, as her body was with his. 'I regret,' she breathed, moving upon him, 'the things that I have done and admitted to; I regret,' she whimpered, hiding her face in his shoulder, 'all that I've done and not been honest to you about, I regret…so many things…'

_So many things…_

'Why did you let him do this to us, Retsu?' Stark whispered when they were both spent, and lying together on a carpet-less floor. She simply let her fingers drift on his chest, and rest on the edges of his Hollow hole.

'Because I, too, hated your kind, if only for that century.' Unohana softly answered. 'Your kind killed the man I loved. I was furious, and I found it easier to not care…not to watch. I let him do this to your kind because I was injured and petty, I only saw my own loss, and I looked away from it all.'

'Was that what you came here to find out?' she asked. Stark drew a deep breath, but remained silent. Under her small, cold fingers, his skin felt hot, and his silence was too heavy to fight. Unohana simply turned her back to him, and brought her knees to her chest. 'At least,' she bitterly chuckled, 'you now have the perfect assurance that I truly did not shelter you from your darkness. How could I have done that, when I never even had strength to shelter myself from my own?'

She did not expect his arm about her shoulders, nor did she expect that his fingers would seek hers – she nonetheless clasped his hand as if she'd been hanging on the edge of a cliff.

_Seele Schneider,_ Unohana thought, turning her head upwards as much as lying with her cheek on Stark's arm allowed, and only catching a partial glimpse of the silvery hilts. _Weapons pried away from the body of a nameless and hopeless enemy; weapons that had slain countless Shinigami, and one that had mattered above all…Silver hilts with no reiatsu of their own, but which nonetheless had the power of erasing energy – ironically, the weapon best suited…_

'If you were in your nightmare now, Stark…' she whispered, 'would I know it? Would I feel it? Would you hold me closer or push me away…'

'I'm used to not moving in my sleep. Distracts from the experience,' the man answered, with distant irony. 'Attracts other predators. Used to awaken Lilinette. All in all, nothing good.'

'Gods, how you must hate us all,' Unohana said, shuddering at the thought of sleeping under Hueco Mundo's sky; he caressed her hair.

'On some days more than others,' Stark responded, letting his fingers wander along her arm. He breathed in deeply, and she could feel his breath falter, if only for a second. 'On some hours more than others – now…'

He drew a deep breath and shook his head.

'The irony of a zanpakutohs' inadequacy against hell's reiatsu is so scalding, so…wonderful, in a sense,' the Arrancar spoke, as his fingers drew arcane symbols on her hip, and ran along a tiny white scar. 'Today, with not only the knowledge that you exterminated us, but proof of the manner in which you did it, I wondered whether in some remote corner of the soul, triumph would be a far more appropriate emotion than the crippling rage I experienced.'

'Triumph?' she echoed.

'Triumph,' Stark repeated, swallowing dry. 'Centuries of war and our near extinction, caused by your distaste of our energy erasing ability – and yet, neither you, nor Ukitake Jyuushiro look away from it now, even as both of you are coming to learn that you don't find Hollow hunger quite as disgusting as you once did, and that Szayel Aporro is a monster, but a useful one…Yes, triumph,' he said, softly. 'I wish I could feel that, Retsu, rather than…,' the Arrancar said, gently pressing her hand over his Hollow hole. 'Rather than this vast nothingness.' He needlessly completed.

They turned to face each other; in a quaint reflex, the man pulled his tunic around her shoulders.

'I sometimes wish that I could still hate you all,' he whispered, tracing her cheek and making her eyelids flutter.

'Should I be sorry that you cannot?' Unohana asked.

'In a sense,' Stark shrugged, closing his eyes. 'The hatred has given me purpose and meaning for such a long time, that it is disconcerting to be without it, precisely when I should need it the most. Was this not…'

'My experience of hatred?' she quietly completed. 'No,' she said, pressing her forehead to his chest. 'I only experienced hatred as a lapse, akin to the one drink too many which reveals things about oneself that are reprehensible…I did not wish to hate, I thought myself incapable of it, but when the hatred came, I lingered with it; for all that time that I spent looking away from it all, I simply felt as if I'd been struggling for breath, and desperately wishing I could bring myself out of this deceivingly self-centered mire of emotions…I've learned,' Unohana said, 'how deeply despicable we can all become without even truly feeling we are betraying ourselves.'

'But you have also learned how to rise above it,' he concluded, in her turn.

'No,' she whispered, feeling embittered. 'I would not say that. Else, I would not confess that I, unlike you, do feel triumph,' the woman stated, straightening her chin to meet his glance. He frowned deeply.

'For whatever it is worth, you're learning,' Unohana said, 'what it felt like to be _us_, through all of those centuries. _Quincy…_You are finally learning.'

She clenched her teeth.

'All of those centuries of hate,' the woman followed, her eyes glittering with shards of ice. 'All of those centuries of thinking your clan could and would do better than Sereitei and Yamamoto, that you could do better than us…'

Stark sat up abruptly.

'We never wished to rule the heavens,' he responded.

'Nor did we,' Unohana returned. 'The thing that you and yours have always failed to see is that we do not climb this ladder; we do not willingly place ourselves here and our energies are a random gift, or curse. We are born this way, and into a certain kind of knowledge, and none of us truly wished to _rule_.'

'You call yourselves Gods,' Stark snarled.

'No, the humans called us that.' She replied, coldly looking up. 'And, truth be told, Primera Espada Stark, do you not feel like one when you descend among them, now?'

'That…' the man tried, shaking his head.

'You know it is true,' Unohana uttered, through clenched teeth. 'Every time that you cross into the human world you know you have the power to protect or utterly annihilate them, and it is in your hand that their continued existence lies. That there are no personal consequences but for the ones you choose to invent. Now, you know that – and each time, you have to make the deliberate choice for either protection or destruction. You did not ask to rule the heavens, Quincy, but here you are. You have made choices: not hating me, allowing Jyuushiro to investigate hell's breach, being here, regaining your weapons… all of the choices you have made on sheer instinct will have a lasting echo and change the fates of many beyond yourself. Do you feel like a God? Or do you simply feel lost?'

Stark looked away.

'Whichever your answer,' she whispered, closing her eyes, 'you are learning to face our demons, and you are not finding it as seamless as you thought it would be…'

'…and this makes you feel avenged,' he finished for her.

'It also makes me wonder when the thought of your absence from my side became so hard to bear,' Unohana replied, making him glance down in sadness.

'I would not guess that by the way you just spoke,' the Arrancar said.

'I think you should,' she gently answered, reaching out from under his tunic to shyly caress his hand, and not minding the fact that he did not react. 'I know that some of my thoughts and feelings will be a burden on you, but I do not wish to hide them, just like I do not wish that you hide yours. I am happy you came tonight. But if you intend to leave,' she distantly whispered, 'leave now, before I come to fully trust that you will stay despite the Shinigami's presence.'

'You cannot hide from us forever,' Unohana whispered, closing her eyes.

He did not lie beside her, but he did not move; she sensed his struggle at each breath and in each imaginary heartbeat, and when she closed her eyes, she thought of Hueco Mundo's sands, which had, for three centuries, given him all the space he needed to flee from himself, but nowhere to run to, and especially nowhere to hide.

'Don't trust me,' Stark said, after long hours. 'I cannot know that I will not hurt you.'

'I won't hurt you,' she promised, choosing not to dispel his fantasy of shelter.

* * *

We're getting near the finish. And believe us, at some point, this WILL be finished if for no other reason than we're so appalled at Tite Kubo's writing since the HM arc.


	67. Speaking Freely

Whoa, a new post in less than a month? Sayeth whaaat?

* * *

Unohana Retsu followed the open, narrow porch for a further few yards, relaxing her fingers about the comforting form of clipboard of medical notes she'd been holding to her chest. The noise of the other reiatsu was slowly dying out, as she headed away from the medical quarters and towards her private rooms – it was getting chilly, she thought, as golden leaves stole across her path. Soft, gentle rain, which still carried the perfume of summer, had begun falling earlier in the evening, and prevented her from crossing the yard to get to her quarters, as she normally might have.

Usually, she did not mind following the arches around the square alignment of porches; in the past, whenever she'd found herself to be the last person awake, she'd sometimes enjoyed sensing the others' reiatsu at rest, as she passed by the dark, closed doors. Now, the brief inferences of the other energies simply muddled the one she was focused on, and she was simply growing impatient.

She sensed the presence closer now than she ever had in the four days since she'd first felt it – sometimes coming close, and sometimes somewhere in the distance, its artificially low hum grating unpleasantly on the edges of her consciousness.

Unohana forced her fingers to relax, drew a deep breath, and continued listening to the rain and the sound of her footsteps upon the long wooden planks. Her shadow was behind her, but their steps made no sound.

'I should not expect it would be wise for you to show yourself here,' Unohana said, not looking over her shoulder, and maintaining her tone even and amicable.

The only response came in the form of a gust of wind, which caused a faint mist of rain to scatter across her features. She wiped it off with the back of her hand, but did not return her fingers to the side of her medical notes. She rested them on Minazuki's hilt instead, rousing the flavor of his energy – for a moment, she wondered whether her follower had thought the gesture a threat. She supposed Yoruichi Sihounin would.

Without giving in to her own increasing impatience, she continued to turn corner after corner, at an even pace; the grounds were quiet and peaceful, and the sound of rain was soothing. She tried to think of nothing, and succeeded until she'd settled on her knees in her bedroom. The Shoji panel pulled itself shut.

'You are not expecting _him_ tonight, then,' Yoruichi said, dryly.

Though the kido she had used to disguise herself washed off her features and contours, her reiatsu remained subdued, to an extent that she doubtlessly thought appropriate. But then, of course, Unohana thought, bowing politely, but feeling that she'd gone through the gesture to disguise the rising hardness in her eyes, Yoruichi Sihounin knew little about the new world, and particularly little about Szayel Aporro Granz. Minazuki would serve to hide them both, for now, she thought, placing the sword across her knees, and straightening her shoulders, yet there was a genuine danger that the increased levels of her zanpakutoh's activity would make Szayel Aporro curious soon enough.

'No, I am not,' Unohana agreeably said. 'It is good to see you. Have a seat, Yoruichi-san.'

'I prefer to stand,' the other woman said, crossing her arms over her chest, and leering down; her eyes glowed brightly but coldly in the darkness, and though her features were frozen in the mask of a detached smile, Unohana could tell the younger Shinigami was exhausted. She was, however, rested enough to muster undisguised anger and disdain.

'I suppose, then, that I should not even make the offer of tea,' Unohana said, smiling brightly.

Yoruichi's grin turned wider, in appreciation of the soft irony, and Unohana guessed that the time for pleasantries – or, indeed, what could have passed for them, in the former 2nd Division Captain's code – was already over.

'The quarters of the 4th and 12th Division are littered with particularly delicate reiatsu sensing equipment,' Unohana said. 'Your presence will be detected, sooner rather than later.'

'I have done well for the past two days…'

'Four,' Unohana corrected, dryly. 'I have sensed you for four days. There is no point in attempting to deceive.'

Yoruichi's eyes narrowed slightly, but she made no attempt at denying the other woman's intuition. The two remained silent for a moment, as the rain ran in thin rivulets over the white, moonlight bathed silk cadre of the screen, casting odd dark lines over both of their features. Unohana lowered her glance, and looked to the side, to a small, inconspicuous tea table.

The Seele Schneider had been just there, but a few days before. Stark had stayed with her until sunrise, but hadn't returned since.

She drew a deep breath.

'I would never have imagined…' Yoruichi began; Unohana Retsu straightened her chin, not needing elaboration on what the other woman would not have imagined.

If Yoruichi had quietly been observing the daily dealings of the 4th, there was no shortage of things that she would have found questionable; the last of the convalescent Arrancar from the grounds of the 7th and 9th were still in the 4th Division's care, along the side the casualties of both species pouring in from the human world. Her interactions with Szayel Aporro, of course, always seamless and to their mutual advantage, and then…She willed her thoughts away.

'I have to admit that I am utterly amazed,' the dark skinned young woman followed, concluding the unspoken accusation more swiftly than Unohana had expected she would. 'It took me a while to even pick up your trail, Captain Unohana; I must congratulate you – the only other that I can think of who could cover his tracks so well was your friend and mine, Sousuke Aizen, and you do not even possess the advantage of Kyoka Suigetsu. But for the fact that the Omnitskido made sure three select glass manufacturers in the city had their heads cut off and pinned to the doors of their shops, I imagine I might not have had a trail to follow at all.'

Unohana imagined she must have paled, for Yoruichi's grin grew wider.

'Did you believe that Tia Halibel would be less effective than Ulquiorra Schiffer?' Yoruichi inquired, raising an eyebrow.

'No,' Unohana replied. 'Though I had, perhaps, let myself imagine that she might be less brutal.'

Yoruichi allowed her grin to fade.

The reference, as the former captain of the 2nd Division had well guessed, had been aimed at the Tercera Espada as well as Yoruichi herself – under the ancestral Sihounin lead, the Omnitskido's practices had always been far from orthodox, and had not sat well with the tight group of captains that Yamamoto had built about himself in the wake of his ascension. He had then stood for lawfulness and policy, and surrounded himself with those who shared his views: Unohana, Ukitake, Kuchiki Ginrei, and, somewhat more remotely Kyoraku Shunsui; though Kyoraku himself was not one who was keen on rules, and always tended to have more respect for the spirit, rather than the letter of the law, he remained one with an strong, innate grasp of good and evil, and with sufficient intelligence to surrender to the fact that morality and law superimposed for the most part.

Assassinations without trial, supervision, intimidation, and pre-emptory incarceration, which had previously been seen as great tools of bringing a chaotic, warlike society under control should not have survived under the rule of law that Yamamoto had desired to bring. To Unohana, it had been a battle worth fighting, and, in truth, she had once even let herself imagine that the Omnitskido and the 12th Division, as it had been under Mayuri Kurosutchi, were the last two opponents that Yamamoto would have had to defeat, in order for Sereitei to grow into what all of them had dreamt it would be.

It had never been easy to forget that out of two sources of abhorrent, yet state sanctioned suffering and random injustice, one had been under the Sihounin's hand since times immemorial, while the other had, in the end, been Yoruichi's own creation, by Urahara Kisuke's hand.

Unohana sighed – the argument was an old one, and perhaps one best left buried. The Sihounin clan's actions in the immediate aftermath of the war had clearly shown that she'd always been right in thinking _them,_ their mindsets and their family tradition incompatible with the Sereitei Yamamoto had sought to build, and ultimately, with herself. She did not regret the sting. She could only bring herself to regret its timing.

'I almost lost your trail at the 12th Division,' Yoruichi said, after a second of silence. 'I would never have imagined that you, of all, would choose such a…creative…path of resistance, and nor would I have imagined that the 12th would support _you_, in any way…'

'It would appear like there are several things you would not have imagined,' Unohana said, with a small bow. 'Where do you come from, Yoruichi-san?' she inquired in her turn. 'You have taken your time in finding Sereitei again.'

'Cross world travel between the human world and Soul Society was rendered impossible.' The younger woman replied, curtly. 'I had originally thought it was Aizen's work, but after a brief round about the grounds of the 12th, I have come to realize that your shadow commander is far more responsible for that impressive feat.'

'The supervision of Hueco Mundo's passageways, however, was far less than rigorous,' Unohana returned, with flawless politeness.

'You may recall that not even Hollowfied Shinigami can open Garganta,' Yoruichi said, through gritted teeth.

'I also recall that at least one Arrancar – the former Tercera, I believe - who had taken a strong attachment to the human Kurosaki Ichigo,' Unohana said – Yoruichi stood away from the wall, her pupils reduced to concentric, thin amber rings. 'Surely, she…'

'Until recently,' Yoruichi hissed, poignantly reminding Unohana of her feline alter-ego, but not bothering to further deny the other woman's supposition, 'I saw no reason to hurry, and come the aid of your crumbling world, to which I have never truly belonged. I believed that I had saved you all from your errors one too many times already, and when I failed to do so, it was only because you, yourselves got in the way.'

Unohana's shoulders stiffened.

'Central 46 had no choice but to act…'

'Central 46 was _blind_,' Yoruichi spat. 'You were blind – for a century and a half, you nurtured your downfall in your midst, though all the _Captain Commander_ would have had to do was listen. For a mere moment. Listen.'

_Triumph,_ she thought, once more looking at the table where the Seele Schneider had lain.

'You created Aizen,' Yoruichi followed. 'You created this, all this; I thought you deserved to bask in the glory of your creation and understand that you have none but yourselves to blame. For the massacre of Karakura. For the ruin of your sparkling, civilized order. But the gates of hell, which brought undeniable proof of Aizen's insanity, I would have let you fester in your failure.'

The blue-eyed woman lowered her glance, forcing herself to let the other's words slip through her and over her, and hoping to remain untouched, while wondering why it was always the young who chose to so openly fight old battles. Especially ones that had already been lost by all.

'How long have you been waiting to tell me this, I wonder?' she dreamily questioned. Yoruichi remained silent, but her glowing eyes spoke enough.

_Too long. She's waited entirely too long, _Unohana thought. _And judging by the look of her, she thinks she had not said enough._

'We all must learn to live with our mistakes,' she said, closing her eyes.

Yoruichi coldly chuckled. 'Indeed, Captain Unohana; we all must – this is the only thing about my absence that I regret: the fact that I could not witness how Aizen finally taught you all that adaptation is the key to survival. You, in particular, appear to be working exceptionally well _under_ the new order.'

'How delicate,' Unohana bowed; despite herself, Minazuki responded to her subdued temper and flared, briefly surrounding her with a faint, sickly green luminescence. She frowned, curling her fingers about his scabbard, hasting to bring him to submission; Minazuki was unpleasantly despondent, and fought his into the open of her spirit plane in a manner which other swords only achieved in Bankai.

_You will not be insulted by…this…her…_he growled, before Unohana could even attempt to pacify him. She quickly looked up, wondering if the other woman had sensed the dimensions of the threat, and indeed, Yoruichi had immediately gathered a defensive position, letting her reiatsu flare in turn. The dark-skinned young woman was grinning ferociously nonetheless.

'Your flash step will send every Arrancar in Sereitei here within a second,' Unohana said, softly. 'Please act wisely.'

Minazuki's light was still dancing oddly about her, carrying none of its regular, soothing aura – a rancid, unfamiliar smell had begun to gather from everywhere and nowhere, rising from the floor and drifting into the room through the fine silk of the Shoji panels.

'I shall,' Yoruichi responded. 'It is just that your actions have made it difficult to determine what the wise course of action is, Captain Unohana.'

A droplet of murky, green fluid oozed through the Shoji panel's silk, yellowing the fabric in its descent.

'The victory of an army over another,' Unohana Retsu patiently said, 'does not imply the victory of a system over another, Yoruichi-san. It just means that one side had the bigger weapons. Stark's words,' she added, meeting the other woman's gaze. 'I would also add it might mean that the victor may have had the additional advantage of having been bred with far less moral aspiration and constraint.'

Minazuki laughed; the silk of the door panels thinned and ripped, as the green droplet advance, and, through a single moonbeam erupted through the fine tear, casting a bright line between the two women.

Youruichi drew a deep breath, willingly reigning in her temper.

'Stark…' she said, looking away for a moment. 'Is he the reason, then?'

'The reason?' Unohana inquired back.

'The reason why you have stopped producing your explosives,' Yoruichi smoothly answered, relaxing her pose. 'You've ceased lending assistance to the Rukongai pressure groups roughly at the same time as Hell broke loose.'

Unohana nodded, slowly. 'Indeed,' she said, offering no further clarification.

'Dare I ask why?' Yoruichi said, arching an eyebrow. 'Is he that good?'

_Are you that weak?_ Minazuki translated, once more swirling into destructive clouds – this time, Unohana held him in check, although she sensed his fury solidifying on the edges of her vision.

'I should think it obvious,' the blue-eyed woman responded – within their spirit plane, Minazuki remained tense and attentive. 'When faced with an enemy whose forces are unknown, it is unwise to diminish one's own forces.'

'One's own?' Yoruichi questioned, in open irony. 'Aizen's Arrancar…This Stark must be quite the charmer – to hear you speak such words, Yamamoto would be spinning in his grave!'

'I am unsure of how informed you are, Yoruichi-san,' Unohana all but snarled; pleased by her now open fury, Minazuki's withdrew somewhat, leaving her room to breathe. 'Your contacts in Rukongai may have been selective in telling you that their attacks were ill planned and ill executed. The 13th and 8th Division of the Gotei have lost twenty Shinigami to their attempts, and they have killed and injured tens of plusses. They've staged attempts on Ukitake Jyuushiro…'

She stopped, briefly disconcerted by the other woman's chuckle, but swallowed dry and followed.

'Their latest actions at the 3rd would have cost even more lives, and were openly aimed Hollow and Shinigami _alike_.' Unohana followed, in a low tone. 'The 3rd Division, I would have you know…'

For the first time, the young woman offered the semblance of a nod.

'I know about the 3rd Division's actions in the human world,' she said. 'We've observed them first hand.'

Yoruichi bit her lower lip.

'I was merely remarking on the irony of hearing you speak such words,' she said, looking away in turn. 'The attacks on the 3rd are widely regarded as a mistake even within Rukongai.' She added, after a moment's pause. 'I understand your stance. We assure you they will not repeat.'

Unohana remained stiff and straight.

'We need the flow of explosives to resume,' Yoruichi said, speaking slowly, and carefully. 'The Rukongai resistance is planning an attack on the confiscated zanpakutoh warehouses.' Unohana's eyes narrowed in attention. 'They will not have sufficient fire power to succeed without your help.'

'That struggle is pointless,' the former Captain of the 4th said a second later, lowering her glance.

'The struggle against Aizen?' Yoruichi shot in blind – wide blue eyes met slanted amber ones, preserving enough coolness to dull fires to ember.

'No,' Unohana said, calmly. 'Any struggle which does not immediately concern the outbursts of the demons in the human world.'

She thoughtfully lowered her chin.

'Besides, unfortunately,' Unohana said, in the same soft tone, 'even if I were to trust that recovering the confiscated zanpakutoh would put an end to un-targeted attacks, my explosives will be of no use to them now. I apologise,' she said, with a short bow. 'I fear that Szayel Aporro Granz has recently created a device which completely neutralizes them.'

She sustained Yoruichi's appraising leer, not fearing that her sincere regret would be misinterpreted. The dark skinned woman measured her for a few seconds, then nodded, slowly and deliberately.

'That must be why the last three attacks did not come to pass,' she said, almost to herself, not taking note of Unohana's questioning gaze.

'They did,' Unohana responded. 'But they had no effect. A grid of devices based on the principle of the Caja Negacion, but attuned to the specific Kido energy wave of my explosives is in place throughout Sereitei. The charges do go off, but the energy is immediately neutralized, and the chain effect fails to come into place.'

Yoruichi seemed to chew on the information, but not find it to her taste; she looked to the floor, lost in quick thought, and ever so slowly shaking her head. Unohana thought she'd heard her curse under her breath.

'Where will I be able to find such a device?' she asked. 'Kisuke is probably going to be able to find a way of sabotaging or bypassing them.'

She questioningly looked up, immediately frowning at Unohana's silence.

'The intent,' the young woman began, pressing each word, 'is to allow the Shinigami in Rukongai to re-claim their swords. It is unlikely that Aizen…'

'The other thing that you do not comprehend, is that if no effort is posed to re-seal Hell,' Unohana interrupted, 'it will soon become overpowering. Its natural expansion is terrifying, and none knows the depths or vastness of its energy. It is unlikely that Aizen intends to seal hell,' she concluded, attempting to channel the other woman's thoughts in the correct direction.

'Where will I find…'Yoruichi repeated.

'If but one of the devices in the grid is removed, Szayel Aporro will learn about it, and your plans will amount to nothing.' Unohana said, dryly.

'If the resistance is successful…'

'The success of the resistance is irrelevant if the hell gates are not sealed,' Unohana responded, curtly.

'Are you attempting to force our priorities?' Yoruichi hissed.

'I am telling you that you will receive no assistance from me, if you believe that either blowing up or judging Aizen's forces is what your priorities are.'

'Do you think you are in any position to pose conditions?' the amber eyed woman asked, throwing her head back and laughing as if neither caution, nor the world around them had not existed. Unwillingly, Unohana clenched her fists about the sword's scabbard.

'Does he know about your side preoccupations? Your Espada?' Yoruichi spat; Unohana looked up, in undisguised fury. 'I guessed as much,' the feline purred, guessing the truth. 'Would he _like_ to know?'

The silence stretched, ominous and stifling; Unohana unwillingly glanced at the side table, regretting her lapse as soon as Yoruichi chuckled.

'Captain Unohana. Yamamoto would truly spin in his grave,' the young woman whispered, in mock amazement – the former captain of the 4th glanced at the floor, appearing serene. Minazuki danced on the on the borders of their spirit plane, beginning to corrode its barriers.

_Let me out,_ the sword said, his voice not ringing in her ears, but flowing through her veins. _Let me out_.

_Not yet,_ Unohana whispered, closing her eyes. Her skin felt cold and clammy.

'No, Yoruichi-san,' she said, softly. 'Stark does not know. Nor, for reasons I am sure you grasp but misjudge, would I wish him to find out. Yet,' she continued, flashing her blood curling, confident smile as she once more opened her eyes to meet Yoruichi's stare, 'your blackmail is as distasteful as it is thin. Only I, and a third party that you will find quite impenetrable hold the mix of my explosives, and only the 12th division has the necessary technology to replicate them. My actions are known far higher in the hierarchy of the 12th than you imagine – and I assure you that if harm of any form were to come to me, the task of apprehending you and yours might spark an interest in a foe far more resourceful and organized than you imagine. You cannot threaten any consequences upon me, and it would, yet again, be unwise to try.'

The Sihounin princess snarled, her pose now clearly offensive, and her reiatsu in full flare.

'Removing one of the Caja Negacion devices from the grid is an incorrect approach. Un-networked prototypes of it exist at the 12th. The contacts that led you to me should be able to lead you to them.' Unohana continued.

Yoruichi breathed in.

'I shall resume the production of explosive charges,' the blue eyed woman continued. 'Should it, however, come to pass that one of your men out in Rukongai as much as trips and causes an explosion elsewhere than in the perimeter of the zanpakutoh warehouses at the 3rd, _I_ will repeat this conversation to the Primera myself.'

'Do we understand each other, Yoruichi Sihounin?' Unohana Retsu said, gracefully leaning forward; in the back of her mind, green, rancid darkness thickened, in expectation of too long delayed pleasure.

'You're leaving. I expect that you shall try to cover your exit,' Unohana carelessly said – the phrase had barely been spoken when she felt the burning of Yoruichi's flash step; she wondered whether the young woman understood that despite her legendary speed, she was still not a match. In the time void that followed, they glances swept across each other, over the glinting edge of a blade.

'Don't mind if I do,' Yoruichi said, in open disdain. Her knife stole across Unohana's chest, severing her braid, but barely scratching her skin. The motion was surprising, but the serious stab was not long delayed. Clenching her teeth, and with strength guided by much more than the desire of disguising the encounter as an assassination attempt, Yoruichi Sihounin drove her short blade through Unohana's ribcage, just below the heart, with motions fast enough that the other woman barely even felt the sting before tasting blood.

'I think that should be sufficient to cover my tracks,' Yoruichi said, with a feral grin. She re-materialized a few feet back, as Unonana distractedly pressed her hand to her ribcage, and glanced upon her own blood.

'No,' Unohana whispered. 'You deserve better.'

Yoruichi's smile froze.

_Bankai._

* * *

Gotta love cat fights, right?

Up next, more lovin' from our first couple and then we start running to the finish.


End file.
